Escape with Mr Darcy
by valerielennox
Summary: When Elizabeth Bennet ventures outside the Netherfield Ball for a bit of air, she witnesses something dreadful and confusing: Mr. Wickham clubs Mr. Darcy over the head and hauls him into a carriage. She can't help but react. And then Mr. Wickham bundles her off in the carriage as well. She's seen too much.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, all! This work is finished, and is available for pre-order on all the major ebook distributors (Amazon, Kobo, Google Play, iBooks, Nook). It will be released on the 30th. It's also in paperback. I do like to provide some of my books free for people who need that option, so I am posting this one here. I'm planning on posting two chapters a week, maybe more, maybe less. We shall see. Please do leave reviews and comments, but know that I won't be reading them until the entire book has been published. If you followed my last published book on fanfiction, you know why. ;) My skin has unfortunately not thickened in the meantime. I am a delicate tulip.

But ignore me and enjoy the story!

 **CHAPTER ONE**

"Please," said Mr. Collins, giving Elizabeth Bennet a wide smile, "you must allow me at least one more dance with you this evening. I am most eager to be close to you. I have told you that my intent was to stay as near to you as is quite possible this evening, and I daresay I have been successful for the most part, save for the dance you took with Mr. Darcy, of course. Now, I would be most pleased if we could dance again."

"Oh, Mr. Collins, I don't believe I could dance any more this evening," said Elizabeth, trying to smile back at Mr. Collins, but largely failing in the attempt.

To say that Elizabeth could not smile meant that her emotional state was grave indeed, for Miss Elizabeth Bennet was, by all accounts, a girl of a cheery disposition who laughed and smiled much of the time. In fact, she had found Mr. Collins's attentions somewhat laughable earlier in the evening, but now she begun to become wary of them, as she had begun to realize what the portent of such attentions must be.

Earlier in the evening, she and her close friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, had put their heads together and giggled over Mr. Collins, who was the most odious man that Elizabeth had ever met.

Truthfully, she had made such a pronouncement about another man, a Mr. Darcy, only a few weeks before when at the Meryton assembly with her family. That was because Mr. Darcy had called her ugly in so many words and said that he wouldn't dare dance with one such as her. He hadn't done it to her face, of course. He had thought she could not hear, but she had been within earshot, and now she knew his true nature. He was a rude and uncouth man, and she despised him. She had been forced to dance with him earlier in the evening, only to be polite, and it had been a dreadful experience, during which he'd barely talked to her, and she'd had to drag any semblance of polite conversation out of him.

And that wasn't the end of it when it came to Mr. Darcy, either. She had learned that he had been uncommonly horrid to a childhood friend, the son of his father's steward, a Mr. Wickham.

Now, Mr. Wickham was the least odious man she had ever met. Mr. Wickham was funny and bright and quite flattering, and Elizabeth had been hopeful of seeing him tonight at the Netherfield Ball. But it was not to be. Wickham had not put it in an appearance.

That was why she had no qualms of begging off dancing entirely by refusing Mr. Collins. In polite society, a woman couldn't refuse a dance if she didn't want to seem extremely rude. Not unless she said she was through with dancing entirely. There was no Mr. Wickham to dance with, so foregoing more dancing was no hardship.

And she would not dance with Mr. Collins again, because he truly was the most odious man alive, more odious even than Mr. Darcy.

At least Mr. Darcy was somewhat knowledgeable about the way to conduct oneself in company such as this. He had a sense of pride. He didn't do such horrid things as Mr. Collins had done—begin speaking to a gentleman without an introduction. It was appalling. And Mr. Collins had a dreadful habit of speaking at length about all manner of insipid things. The worst was when he took to speaking about morality or the gospel or other such things. He was a parson, and she imagined his sermons must be dreadfully dull.

He was a buffoon, that was what he was. Mr. Collins was like a clown in one of Shakespeare's plays, too ridiculous to be real. If she hadn't been interacting with him in real life, Elizabeth might have pointed and laughed and declared him great entertainment. But Collins wasn't putting on a show. He was deadly serious about all of it, and he had no idea how foolish he seemed.

But the worst of it was that Mr. Collins seemed to have designs on her.

He had already danced with her twice. Asking for more dances with her was to practically declare their engagement.

Which was why she _had_ to refuse.

She wasn't going to marry Mr. Collins.

She should have realized it before. It was obvious now that she thought about it. Mr. Collins probably thought he was doing a good thing. Elizabeth's father's estate was entailed on Mr. Collins. If he married one of the Bennet sisters, then there would be a home for the family after Elizabeth's father's death. Mr. Collins likely would have wanted to marry Jane, but Elizabeth imagined that her mother had steered him away from Jane, because Jane and Mr. Bingley had gotten so close lately. Everyone expected Mr. Bingley to propose to Jane, and Elizabeth hoped it would be so.

Her older sister was as sweet as she was beautiful, and she deserved pure happiness.

Elizabeth knew it would be expected of her to marry Mr. Collins. And she simply could not be joined to that man. He was, after all, the most odious man she had ever met.

"… it is a good thing for young ladies to exhaust themselves with such exercise," Mr. Collins was saying. He had been babbling for some time now, Elizabeth thought, but she had not been listening to a word he said. "Some men may wish for women to remain still and staid, but not me. No, I think that God gave us our bodies for movement, and I believe that the Lord rewards us with the deepest and purest slumber after we have all used our bodies to the extent that they have become quite tired. So, I am deeply satisfied with your answer that you will no longer dance, Miss Elizabeth. In fact, I admire you for it all the more. And I must say that I already admired you to begin with, my sweetest cousin."

Elizabeth coughed.

"I myself am not so tired," said Charlotte. "I do think I could dance again and find this exhaustion you think is the Lord's reward."

"Mmm," said Mr. Collins. "Would that there were someone to dance with you, Miss Lucas."

"Perhaps you might dance with her," said Elizabeth.

"Me?" said Mr. Collins. "Oh, heavens no. I am staying as close as possible to you, my beautiful cousin. And as for dancing itself, I am utterly indifferent to it."

"You were just saying that you thought it was something that God approved of," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, certainly," said Mr. Collins. "But the good Lord allows us to decide such things for ourselves. We are free to dance, or free not to dance. That is the very essence of free will, after all."

"Indeed," said Elizabeth. There was no way to get rid of this man, was there? She drew herself up. "You know, Mr. Collins, I have suddenly become most desirous of another glass of punch. I must go to seek one at once."

"Oh, do not trouble yourself, cousin. I am sure that one of the servants who I have seen about—"

"No, no," said Elizabeth. "I must have it now, and I must go myself, I'm afraid. My desire for it is without measure. Please excuse me." And before he could utter another word, she swept herself away, giving Charlotte an apologetic look.

But Charlotte only winked at her and began to speak to Mr. Collins.

Oh, thank heaven for Charlotte. She was a saint to speak to that awful man. She really was.

Elizabeth hurried through the rest of the rooms of the party. When she and Jane had been forced to stay here because of Jane's sickness, she had become rather familiar with the house, and she knew there was a door through one of the sitting rooms. It led outside.

Elizabeth went there and threw it open.

She stepped out into the chilly night air, welcoming its coldness as it hit her cheeks and invaded her lungs. It woke her up and helped to sharpen her mind. She needed to think of what it was that she was going to do.

She could not marry Mr. Collins. Absolutely could not. But if she denied him, the damage it might do to her family in the future was considerable. Also, her mother would likely lose her mind if Elizabeth said no to the man.

She needed a plan.

But even the brisk air brought nothing to her mind.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and began to walk. She should not walk too close to the front of the house, because she shouldn't be walking around alone at a party. It wasn't proper for her as a young woman without a chaperone of any kind. People might talk if they saw her. Lord knew, with the way that the rest of her family had been behaving all night, it wouldn't take much to set tongues wagging. She had been quite embarrassed by her mother especially, but also by her sisters and even her father. Not Jane, of course. She was too besotted to do anything other than dote on Bingley.

Elizabeth rounded the corner to the front of the house and then retreated, because she saw a man coming out of the front door. He was a red coat. There had been numerous officers from the regiment at the party, which was why she had hoped that Wickham would have been there.

It was Wickham's fault that she hadn't noticed what was happening with Mr. Collins earlier. Well, it wasn't directly Wickham's fault, she supposed. It hadn't been his intention to distract her so. She had been distracted, however, because he was so charming and so handsome and because of the way he had _looked_ at her. There was a… a weighty quality to his gaze that sent shivers running through her.

Oh, why couldn't Wickham have been here?

And why couldn't he have been the one who wanted to marry her, not Mr. Collins? Elizabeth didn't have the best of luck in life, but she felt as if she was cursed that night. She could see nothing pleasant in her future, and she was saddened by it.

But wait.

Elizabeth peered around the house again. That _was_ Wickham. He was here? Why hadn't he sought her out? Why hadn't he asked her to dance? She started forward to speak to him, and then realized that wouldn't be proper, both of them talking out here alone. She retreated again.

And then Mr. Darcy came out of the house, his expression stony.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

"Thank you for coming out to speak with me," Wickham said to Darcy.

Elizabeth stayed out of sight, watching and listening to the two of them. She knew that Mr. Darcy had been quite awful to Mr. Wickham, and she had to admit she was curious to see if he would be more awful still or if he might make some conciliatory gesture towards his childhood friend. Certainly, after how badly Darcy had treated Wickham, Wickham was owed that.

"You were not barred from the assembly tonight," Darcy said in a tight voice. "If you have come to beg for acceptance, I will grant it, but I would ask that you stay clear of me. And I do think that it is rather late to be arriving at a ball. There is very little dancing left, I shouldn't wager."

"I have not come to gain entrance to your friend's little ball," said Wickham, chuckling softly. "Not by half, Darcy."

"I had thought you stayed away out of shame," said Darcy. "But now I see that I should have realized that you are not capable of such an emotion."

 _Hmm,_ thought Elizabeth. _What does Wickham have to be ashamed of? Isn_ _'t it Darcy who should be ashamed?_

"Indeed, I do not think I have anything to be ashamed of," said Wickham. "I have only been trying to secure for myself what is my right."

"Your _right_?" Darcy let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Darcy, I was raised just as you were," said Wickham. "I was good enough to be your playmate. Your schoolmate. And yet, now, you want to look down on me as if I am lesser than you."

"You _are_ lesser than me," said Darcy. "Not because of your birth, but because of your actions. You have consistently made poor choices, and if I were to keep enabling you to make more, you should learn nothing. No, I have done quite enough for you, and I shall do no more. I have only come out to speak to you to tell you that you are on your own. I won't listen to another sob story. The fact that you think you can plead from me after what you tried with my sister—"

"That was the deepest injustice of all," said Wickham. "You thought to stand in the way of true love, and who are you to say that—"

"Your only love is money," said Darcy. "And even that you don't love enough to learn how to manage properly."

Wickham shook his head. "Listen to me, you don't understand. For you, there is always more. Whatever mistakes you make, they are not of any consequence, because you have the vast Darcy estate behind you to fritter away—"

"Do you see me frittering?" Darcy's face was getting red. "I think this conversation is over. I don't know what it is you want from me, but you won't get it, and I don't think you _should_ come inside after all. I think you should leave."

Elizabeth was a bit confused, although she thought that perhaps what Wickham may have been talking about when he referred to what was his right was perhaps the living that had been left to him. That Darcy could pretend that was not Wickham's right only proved what an odious man he truly was.

"Listen, I have something I'd like to show you," said Wickham. "If you'd accompany me to the carriage over there?" He gestured.

Elizabeth followed his hand to see that a carriage was standing on the drive, the driver in the seat, and the horses snorting and stamping in the cold.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Wickham, I think I have made myself clear—"

"Just for a moment," said Wickham. "Please, Darcy, it won't take long."

Darcy sighed. "If I go and look at this thing you wish to show me, will you then go away?"

"With all haste," said Wickham.

"All right, then." Darcy shook his head, looking perturbed. "I shall look, then."

"Thank you," said Wickham. He inclined his head. "After you."

Darcy hurried down the steps with Wickham on his heels. They approached the carriage, Darcy going first and Wickham coming behind him.

Darcy approached the carriage. "What is this I'm supposed to be looking at?"

"You can't see it?" said Wickham, who was pulling something out of his sleeve. "It's right in front of you."

Darcy stopped short, squinting. "I see nothing."

Wickham drew out a wooden club. He smirked, and then he brought the club down on the back of Darcy's head.

What? Elizabeth could hardly believe what she was seeing. She let out a noise of surprise.

Wickham turned at the sound.

At the same moment, Darcy crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

That's all for today! Again, you can pre-order the book on Amazon, Nook, Kobo, iBooks, or Google Play or you can buy the paperback. It'll be delivered to your ereader on the 30th in its entirety. The book is about 63,000 words and it's coming it at 250 paperback pages, for you information. Otherwise, I'll see you back here for the next installment.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

 _I should run,_ thought Elizabeth, gathering up her skirts. She turned to run into the house. She even made it a few steps.

But then Wickham was there, hand on her arm. "Miss Bennet?" he said, obviously surprised. "What are you doing, sneaking around outside in the cold?"

"Me, sir?" she said, gaping at him. "You have the gall to ask me what _I_ am doing? What are _you_ doing? You have just hit Mr. Darcy over the head. Violently. It is… I am…" She couldn't even speak, she was so rattled.

Wickham's grip tightened on her arm. "Yes, well, perhaps it wasn't the most intelligent of ideas to do it right outside a ball, but I thought that with all the people inside, Darcy wouldn't be missed for quite some time. And I didn't expect anyone to be lingering outside in the dark in November."

She was freezing, but she had forgotten all about the cold while watching the scene in front of her unfold. "I don't understand," she said. "Certainly, Mr. Darcy has been a villain to you, but to do as you've done, why… you could be arrested. You could be hung. People are hung for stealing, you know, and you have just hit a gentleman over the head with—"

"And you," said Wickham, "are outside all alone without a chaperone. What is it that you are doing?"

"Why…" She squared her shoulders. "I needed a bit of air is all. Mr. Wickham, please. I had thought that you and I had a bit of a…" She gazed into his eyes, wanting to understand. "Tell me something that enables me to make sense of this."

"Miss Bennet," said Wickham, "here's what I think you should do. I think you should trot back inside and forget that you've seen this at all." While Mr. Wickham spoke, Elizabeth watched as the carriage driver began dragging Mr. Darcy's motionless form into the carriage. The driver had no expression as he did it, as if moving unconscious gentlemen was nothing out of the ordinary for him.

Elizabeth could not believe any of this. "Are you quite mad? You think I would keep silent about what you've done? Why, people will inquire about Mr. Darcy, and what shall I say to them?"

"You will say nothing," said Wickham. "Because if you do say anything, I shall tell them that while you were absent from the ball, you were with me in the back of a carriage, surrendering your virtue."

"What?" Elizabeth sputtered. "But that is a lie."

"Yes," said Wickham. "But I shall have no qualms about telling it and ruining you. And then I don't know what will happen to you. It'll be quite a sordid bit of business for both you and your family."

"Mr. Wickham, you… you…" She shook her head. "You are not behaving at all like yourself."

Wickham chuckled. "Oh, am I not? On how many occasions have we spoken, Miss Bennet? Are you quite sure you know me?"

She swallowed. "No, I suppose not."

"I assure you that you have positively no idea what it is that I am capable of. So, run along like a good girl and keep your mouth shut." He gave her a little shove toward the house.

She was forced to take a few steps by the way he had pushed her, but then she stopped and turned around. "Listen, Mr. Wickham, it occurs to me that you are putting Mr. Darcy in a carriage, and one assumes that you will be leaving with him, since you said that you were hoping no one would notice his absence in a crowd. So, exactly when will you be telling everyone that you have despoiled me? It certainly won't be before I have told them that you have captured Mr. Darcy. As a matter of fact, I imagine someone will be after you directly. When they catch you red handed with Mr. Darcy in the carriage, I don't suppose they'll believe anything you say about my virtue."

Wickham made a sour face.

"You must think that I am incredibly stupid," she said, glowering at him.

"Very well, then," said Wickham, striding over to her and seizing her by the arm again. "I tried to give you a way out, Miss Bennet, but you did not take it. You'll have to come along, I suppose."

"What?" She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp.

He held tight and began to drag her toward the carriage. The driver had successfully put Mr. Darcy inside by this point, and there was no sign of him at all. "Now," Wickham said conversationally, "you must think you're remarkably clever. But I must tell you, Miss Bennet, if you were truly so clever, you might have played along with me and made it out that you were going to keep quiet and then gone inside and raised the alarm, as you said. This way, however, I knew what you were planning and was able to react. So, I wouldn't say that you are _incredibly_ stupid, I don't suppose. Still, you had best guard yourself. Your wit is not so sterling as you might imagine."

Elizabeth made one last attempt to wrench her arm away from Mr. Wickham, but was unsuccessful. "You are really a horrible man, aren't you?"

"I do not think so," said Wickham, opening the carriage door and pushing her up the steps. "I think I have been through a great deal, though, and such awful experiences tend to harden a man. I am desperate now, and I must take desperate steps to secure what I deserve. Now, stop struggling, Miss Bennet, and get in there."

Elizabeth did not stop struggling. In fact, she turned back toward Netherfield and began to scream. "Help! Help me, please!" _Perhaps I_ am _incredibly stupid_ , she thought. _Why did I not yell for help before?_

"None of that," said Wickham and wrapped his hand around her face, over her mouth. Holding her thusly, he hauled her into the carriage. He settled back on the seat, pulling her along with him, and he used his other hand to rap on the ceiling of the carriage. It lurched forward.

Elizabeth continued to struggle, and the carriage continued to move. She made noise, but it was all muffled against Mr. Wickham's hand.

Finally, she had the notion to bite him, which she did.

Wickham swore, recoiling immediately.

She yelled at the top of her lungs. "Help! Please, help, now!"

Wickham slapped her.

She was stunned. It hurt. She put her fingers against her cheek where he had struck her. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Get over there," said Wickham, hurling her across the carriage.

Darcy was on the other side, his body propped up on the seat. Because of the way he was leaning, there was barely any room for Elizabeth to sit. The carriage jostled her, though, and she lost her balance and found herself on the seat next to Mr. Darcy. The length of his leg pressed against her body. It was warm and lean and firm. She shifted uncomfortably and worked on stopping the tears that were coming out of her eyes unbidden.

She wasn't going to cry. Crying was no good in this situation, and Elizabeth knew that instinctually. She certainly had never been schooled on how to behave in such a situation. Proper etiquette for an abduction was not covered alongside the proper conversational topics for a dinner party. Crying, however, was not likely to prevail on Mr. Wickham's good nature. In fact, she was beginning to think that he did not have a good nature at all. He was altogether different than she had thought. He was actually now right at the top of her estimation of the most odious man she had ever met, knocking Mr. Collins down below him. And to think she had, just moments before, been wishing that Wickham might marry her. What a fool she had been.

She managed to get herself under control and stop the flood of tears.

Wickham had his finger in his mouth, sucking it. "You _bit_ me," he said, horrified.

"Oh, yes, well, I'm dreadfully sorry," she said, sarcastic. "I had no cause at all, of course. It's not as if you were taking me somewhere against my will. It's not as if you were practically smothering me."

"Don't be dramatic," said Wickham. "You could breathe."

"Oh, could I? You live inside my body then? You know what I could and couldn't do in that moment?"

"I was not covering your nose."

"You were blocking it with your rather thick fingers," she said.

"Even if that were the case, no true harm would have come to you," said Wickham. "What do you take me for? A murderer?"

"I don't know what to think of you," she said. "I had thought you a good man, but now I see that I was mistaken. You are a common criminal, a wretched, wretched—"

"Have a care," said Wickham. "I would not insult me if I were you."

"Oh, no?" she said. "Why, because you'll strike me again? What a brave, brave man you are, Mr. Wickham, hitting women who are are less than half your size. Yes, you're quite the man, aren't you?"

He chuckled softly. "That tongue of yours, Miss Bennet, is going to get you in trouble someday. I would see to it, before it continues its wagging and gets you in more jeopardy than you know how to deal with."

She really should shut up, and she knew it. But talking back to him was the only thing that was keeping her from crying, she realized. It made her feel strong. If she was quiet, she would have to accept that she was in a very bad position indeed. "I will say whatever it is that pleases me. And if you do not like it, you will have to stop me."

"Don't tempt me, Miss Bennet," said Wickham, and now he was smiling. "I think I might enjoy shutting you up." He eyed her, and there was something awful in his expression.

She shuddered, and then she _was_ quiet. The look had robbed her of the capacity for speech.

The carriage rattled on and on into the night.

Had her family noticed that she was gone? What would they think when they noticed it? Would anyone make anything of the fact that Darcy had disappeared as well?

When they noticed, she knew that they would look for her. She only hoped they would be able to find her.

#

Sometime later, Mr. Darcy woke with a start. He tried to stand up in the carriage, bumped his head on the ceiling, and then sat back down.

Wickham burst out into laughter.

Darcy looked around, a panicked expression on his face. "Wickham," he said. He turned to Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet?" He furrowed his brow, and then he fingered the back of his head gingerly. "What's happened?"

Wickham was still laughing. "Oh, Darcy, the way you flailed about just then, it was marvelous."

"Where am I? What have you done to me?"

"You're in a carriage," said Wickham. "And I've hit you and knocked you out to get you on board."

"But-but…" Darcy looked around. He was breathing hard. "What is Miss Bennet doing here?"

"Oh, she was a rather unfortunate last-minute addition," said Wickham. "She saw it all. Nothing for it. I had to bring her along."

"But where are we going?" said Darcy. "And you…" He touched the back of his head again. "You _hit_ me."

"Yes," said Wickham, grinning.

"Of all the villainous, horrid things," said Darcy, getting out of his seat in preparation to lunge at Wickham.

"Now, now," said Wickham, reaching into his jacket and coming out with a double-barreled pistol. "Why don't you stay on that side of the carriage?"

Elizabeth gasped. She couldn't help it. Wickham was threatening them with a _gun_. This was too awful to be imagined, let alone to be really happening. Maybe it was some sort of awful nightmare and she would wake up soon. She only wished that were truly the case.

Darcy looked at the barrels of the pistol and then at Wickham's face. "What are you playing at?"

"This is not a game," said Wickham. "You always underestimate me, Darcy. You thought that by stopping everything in Ramsgate, you had cut me off from what is owed me, but I am not done, not yet. I will get what's mine. I _will_ have it."

"You can't think you'll have anything after all this is over," said Darcy. "Why, what you've done here, committing violence against me, threatening me with that gun? The first thing I shall do when I am free is have you jailed."

"I don't think you will," said Wickham. "By that time, you will have to consider your sister's reputation and happiness."

Darcy stiffened. "What are you planning, Wickham?"

"Like I said, I'm going to get what is my right."

"You leave Miss Darcy out of all of this," said Darcy. "I am the one you are displeased with. She has done nothing to you. So, let her be."

"Of course she's done nothing to me," said Wickham. "She loves me. She is the only Darcy who is truly kind to me now that your father has gone from this earth."

"Listen," piped up Elizabeth in a tiny voice, "I don't really know what's going on. And I have to say, I cannot imagine Mr. Wickham as a country parson, not after what I've seen him do tonight. But hadn't you best settle with him, Mr. Darcy? Give him what the living is worth, if you can't bear to see him being behind the pulpit. Maybe then he'll let us go."

Darcy turned to look at her. "Miss Bennet, you really _don_ _'t_ know what's going on."

"No, she doesn't," said Wickham. "But even she knows that you are in the wrong. She hated you without my telling her a word."

"Hated?" said Darcy, eyeing her.

Elizabeth licked her lips. "I think Mr. Wickham is putting it a bit strongly, sir. I certainly wouldn't say that I felt hatred toward you." She may have thought Mr. Darcy the third odious man that she had ever met, but he was infinitely preferable to Mr. Wickham. And he might very well be her only ally. "You were uncommonly cold at the Meryton assembly. You wouldn't dance with anyone, and gentlemen were scarce."

"I don't like dancing with people I don't know," said Darcy, looking away. "Not all of us all blessed with such easy vivacity as you, Miss Bennet."

"Clearly not," said Elizabeth. And then winced.

Wickham burst out into gales of laughter again.

"I'm sorry," said Elizabeth. "I didn't mean it. Truthfully, Mr. Darcy, I would not say anything to offend you now, not for the world. Please, please accept my most humble apologies, and—"

"Miss Bennet, do not trouble yourself with that," said Darcy, sweeping it away with one hand gesture. "We are in a difficult situation. Tempers run high."

"Yes, indeed," she said. "And my ire is meant to be aimed only at Mr. Wickham, who has taken us both away by force." She must not allow herself to speak anymore. She was making everything worse.

"Cold," said Wickham. "Uncommonly cold." He was still laughing. "I never thought I'd see the day when the great and lofty Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was despised by an entire community."

"An entire…" Darcy turned to look at her.

"Not _everyone_ feels that way," said Elizabeth, wincing again.

Darcy shook his head. "This is of no consequence. Listen, Wickham, whatever it is that you want from me, just come out with it, and I'll make sure you get the money. Involving Miss Bennet in something like this is wretchedly low, even for you. You did not consider the risk to her reputation, and you have crossed far too many lines. But because of the love that my father bore you, I shall pay you your money and wait until the morning to call the authorities to arrest you. If you are quick, you can be out of the country by then."

Wickham stopped laughing. His nostrils flared. "I am in control here, and don't forget it. I will tell you what you will give me and when."

Elizabeth was trying not to think of what Darcy had said about her reputation. Of course, that had been on the edge of her consciousness since all this had happened, but she had not wanted to face it. But she was very likely going to be ruined by this. No one would want to marry her, not even Mr. Collins.

"Just tell me what you want," said Darcy.

"All in good time," said Wickham. "All in good time."

* * *

That's all for today. The book releases tomorrow, and I think I will probably post one more chapter tomorrow before settling into my two-ish-chapters-a-week pace. Again, you can purchase the book on all retailers and it will be delivered to your ereader tomorrow. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

It was quite late when they arrived at their destination, a modest-sized house with a great many horses tied up in the front. Wickham held the gun on both of them as they descended from the carriage, and then ushered them inside.

They were not met by a butler at the door, but rather by a woman with an ample bosom whose face had been painted.

Elizabeth realized with a jolt that they were in a house of ill repute and that the woman was a doxy. Elizabeth had seen such women from afar on occasion, and she knew of them, but she had very little knowledge of them on a true level. There was something that the women did, something that was only supposed to be done by wives, and Elizabeth was not sure what it was exactly. She had done a great amount of reading, but even books seemed to be rather vague on the subject.

When Elizabeth thought about it, it tended to make her feel somewhat warm and a bit uncomfortable. She was curious but also frightened of those sensations. She also had the sense that such thoughts were indelicate, so she did her best to avoid having them.

Being here, among these fallen women, well, it only cemented the idea that she was ruined. She wanted to cry again. She wouldn't allow herself to.

"George," said the woman, looking them over, "you're late."

"Sorry, Agnes," said Wickham, still pointing the gun at Darcy. "I was as quick as I could manage."

"And who is this?" Agnes nodded at Elizabeth.

"She got in the way," said Wickham.

"Well, what are we going to do with her?" said Agnes.

"Ransom her, maybe," said Wickham. "Her family might pay to have her back, I wager. And she's of gentle birth. They must have some kind of money."

It was on the tip of Elizabeth's tongue to contradict him, but then she decided that was foolish. Perhaps if he thought she was worth money, things might go easier for her. She couldn't believe that Wickham did not know of her financial situation, however. Everyone in Hertfordshire had some idea of everyone else's income, and they all gossiped about it. And with all the women fawning over Wickham and his having paid attention to her, certainly someone had told him of her lack of fortune.

Maybe Wickham was simply a very self-interested man. He might pay attention to little other than his own voice.

"Now, we're asking for ransom?" said Agnes, pursing her lips. "This is not what you promised me. You said this would be easy money, and you promised me—"

"Now, hush," said Wickham, giving Agnes a smile. "It'll all turn out right, love. Trust me."

"Don't trust him," said Darcy dryly. "He's probably the least trustworthy person I know."

Agnes ignored Darcy. "Well, I've only got the one room."

"So?" said Wickham.

"So, you want me to put them both in there?"

"Certainly," said Wickham.

Agnes shrugged. "All right, if you say so."

"I do," said Wickham. "Take us there."

Agnes sighed. "I really don't like this, I don't."

"Oh, shut up, Agnes," sighed Wickham. "Where's the room?"

Agnes started to walk. "This way."

Darcy spoke up. "Listen, Agnes, is it?"

Agnes didn't respond.

"Whatever money he's promised you," said Darcy, "I can get you more. One thing I happen to have a lot of is money. So, if you could be so good as to—"

"Shut up," said Wickham, putting the pistol in Darcy's face.

Darcy grimaced. But he stopped talking.

#

The room was dark and drab, and it didn't have any windows. There was a lamp burning in the corner, which barely illuminated a narrow bed and table beside it. The table held the lamp, a wash basin, and three books. The rest of the room was empty save for some cobwebs in the corners. Elizabeth did not want to be stuck in this room by herself, let alone cramped in here with Mr. Darcy besides. She could not think that there was nearly enough room for both of them.

But Wickham coaxed them inside with his gun and took from Darcy anything that he had on him of value, including his signet ring and any coin he had about him. And then Wickham shut the door on them. They could both hear the latch being bolted on the other side.

For several long moments, neither of them so much as moved.

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her back and gazed down at the floor. She thought that it would probably fall to her to speak. After all, Mr. Darcy was not known for his loquacity. But she had no idea what to say at all.

Suddenly, Mr. Darcy flung himself across the room at the closed door, putting his shoulder against it. He hit it with a very loud noise.

Elizabeth squeaked in surprise.

The door barely budged.

Darcy stepped back, rubbing his shoulder, looking annoyed.

"None of that!" called Wickham's voice from further away. "You can't get out."

"We'll see about that," muttered Darcy, giving the door a dark look. He ran at it again at full speed.

Elizabeth flinched when he hit it.

"Darcy!" roared Wickham from the other side.

Darcy stalked to the other side of the room and ran at the door again.

"Keep doing that, yes," came Wickham's voice. "But if you wake up the entire household, I can't be responsible for how Agnes deals with you. You haven't seen her when she's upset."

Darcy's nostrils flared. He turned and headed for to the other side of the room for another attempt.

"Sir," said Elizabeth.

He looked up at her.

"You mustn't hurt yourself any worse," said Elizabeth.

"Worse?" said Darcy. "What are you talking about, Miss Bennet?"

"He hit your head," said Elizabeth. "Sit down on the bed and let me look at it."

Darcy gingerly fingered the back of his head. "It's fine."

"You can't be sure of that. It was quite a knock you received, enough to make you lose consciousness."

"I suppose you're an expert in head injuries, madam?"

"Well, of course not," said Elizabeth. "I don't suppose I really know anything, but…"

Mr. Darcy drew in a breath as if he was about to say something, but then he let out air noisily, looking defeated. He sat down on the bed.

She approached him from behind. The bed was square in the middle of the wall, and it took up most of the room. Elizabeth thought that moving it against the wall might make the room look bigger. She didn't know why it had been situated the way it was. At any rate, it did allow her access to Mr. Darcy's head. She moved close and peered down at it. "It seems to have bled a bit. Let me wash it for you."

"Please, Miss Bennet, don't trouble yourself."

But she was already at the wash basin, wringing out the rag there. She went back to him and dabbed at the blood in his hair.

He jerked away at her touch, letting out an annoyed sound.

"Sorry," she said. "Does it hurt?"

He moved back. "No, it's nothing. I apologize." He sat stock still as she cleaned the blood from his hair, but she noticed that his hands were clenched in fists at his sides and that he stared straight ahead as if he was concentrating very hard.

She made as quick work of it as she could and, while dabbing at it, was able to note that the wound was quite small and had already scabbed up. Mr. Darcy had a frightfully large knot on the back of his head, however. There was nothing she could do about that.

Finished, she stepped back. "I wish there was more I could do, sir."

"Don't be ridiculous. You are a gentlewoman, and you ought not be waiting on me." His tone was dismissive.

Feeling scolded, she went back to the table and rinsed the rag out in the wash basin. "I do apologize," she said, and she couldn't help that a note of sarcasm crept into her tone. Here, she had been feeling sorry for Mr. Darcy and even feeling a bit of kinship with him, as they were both in the same awful situation. But she had forgotten that he was the third most odious man she had ever met. Even after she had tended to his wound, he was dreadfully rude.

He got up from the bed, a look of remorse on his face. "No, Miss Bennet, it is I who should apologize. I am sorry. I am in a rather bad mood, I'm afraid, given the circumstances, and my head is pounding. I'm afraid I'm not very good company."

Now, she felt ashamed of herself. Of course she couldn't expect him to be polite, not in the face of all of this. "I think I may be in a bit of a bad temper myself. This is not how I thought I would be spending my night."

"Indeed," said Darcy. He gazed at the door, shaking his head. "No windows. That door is our only way out. Perhaps if I ran at it a few more times, it might give way. The wood does seem strong, but under repeated stress, perhaps I can break us free."

"But when you did so before, Wickham heard the noise and called to us straight away. Even if you broke through, he would be there waiting for us on the other side of the door with his pistol."

Darcy sighed. "Bloody hell." He grimaced. "My apologies for using such language."

"It's all right," said Elizabeth. She squared her shoulders. "It's about how I feel as well. Bloody hell."

Darcy's eyes widened. And then he laughed.

Elizabeth laughed too.

It was a moment during which the two relaxed a bit, but then their laughter died out and they were left alone in the quiet.

"Perhaps we should try to get some rest," offered Elizabeth. "See if we can't address the problem in the morning with fresh eyes?"

"Perhaps," conceded Darcy.

"You should take the bed," said Elizabeth. "You have been wounded, after all."

"Don't be daft," said Darcy. "You are a lady. You must take the bed."

"But you'll need your strength if we're going to escape."

"I could not look at myself in the mirror if I let you sleep on the floor while I slept in that bed," said Darcy. Scornfully, he got down on the floor and lay down, putting his back to her.

"Mr. Darcy," she said. "Really, I don't mind."

No answer.

Elizabeth got the pillow off the bed and the blanket. She gave those to Mr. Darcy, who accepted them wordlessly. Then she climbed into the bed and curled up, putting her back to Mr. Darcy as well. She was cold, and the bed was lumpy.

She was worried about her family. They would have noticed that she was gone by now, and they must be concerned. Jane would be beside herself, and it would ruin Jane's lovely evening with Bingley. And Elizabeth's mother was one to get herself into fits sometimes. Her emotional breakdowns might be more centered on her own emotions than true worry about Elizabeth, but when her mother was in a bad way, it affected everyone in the family.

Even so, Elizabeth slipped to sleep almost immediately, having been seized by exhaustion.

#

Elizabeth woke to the sound of the door opening.

Darcy was standing at the door, holding a book over his head, and Elizabeth wondered if he intended to strike whoever came in. She also noted that there was a bit of dark growth against the skin of his chin, and also some on his upper lip. She had to admit the sight of it was utterly masculine and very appealing in a way that made her uncomfortable. But rather pleasantly uncomfortable, something that she found vexing.

Elizabeth sat up quickly, tucking her feet under her body, and shaking away these thoughts.

The door opened.

Mr. Darcy faltered.

Because it was only a slip of a girl who came inside. She had a tray of food, containing some bread and tea. She saw Mr. Darcy standing there and started, spilling the tea a bit.

"Here," said Darcy. "Let me help you with that." He took the tray from her.

The girl flinched from him, as if she was used to being hit. In fact, it did look as if she had a fair number of bruises on her body.

"I won't hurt you," said Darcy.

The girl nodded. "Of course. I brought breakfast."

"Thank you," said Darcy. "What's your name?"

"Fanny, sir," said the girl. "If you please, I'm not supposed to speak to you."

"Fanny, I warrant you know the way out of this house," said Darcy. "And I warrant there are things that you could use that you cannot afford."

"Sir, I really mustn't speak—"

"We could help each other," said Darcy, taking her by the arm. "You and I. You help me get out of here, and I will see that you are paid handsomely."

"Oh, no, sir," said Fanny, shaking her head. "Mr. Wickham has put guards outside. They would see if I tried something."

"A clever girl like you might find a way to distract them," said Darcy. "You may not realize exactly how much money—"

"I couldn't risk it," Fanny's voice rose in worry. "If I let you go, Agnes is like to kill me, and I don't mean that as a joke. I seen them bury bodies in the back."

"I would protect you," said Darcy. "Please, if you could—"

"Let go of me," said Fanny, tugging her arm out of Darcy's grasp. She backed out of the door and shut it behind her, and they heard the sound of the latch being set again.

Darcy sighed.

Elizabeth got up off the bed. "Well, it was a good thought. Perhaps she'll change her mind."

"I don't think so," said Darcy. "She looked frightened past her wits. I wonder what goes on in this place. Small wonder that Mr. Wickham is here. For him to associate with the scum of the earth is quite appropriate." He crossed the room and made a bit of space on the table to set the tray down. There was one crust of dry bread each for both of them, and two chipped cups for the tea.

Elizabeth poured it out.

The bread was so hard as to only be edible when dipped into the tea, which was lukewarm and weak besides.

Still, she felt as if she had eaten it too quickly when it was gone, because she wished there was more.

"I will get us out of this," Darcy rumbled suddenly. "I will find a way. One way or another." He sounded determined.

"What does Wickham want with you?" said Elizabeth.

"I don't entirely know," said Darcy. "But it will center on money some way or the other. He has an insatiable desire for money, and it slips through his fingers like water through a sieve. He is an awful spendthrift. Why, when I gave him the value of that living he was promised, the one he didn't want, he went through all of it in no time."

"So, you did give him something?"

"Of course," said Darcy. "It was my father's wish that he be looked after. At the time, I thought I would give him that and never see him again, but I was wrong. He is a constant thorn in my side."

"So, he lied to me," said Elizabeth shaking her head.

"He excels at lying, madam," said Darcy.

At that moment, they both hurt the catch of the lock being undone.

Darcy leapt to his feet, going for the book again, but he wasn't in time.

Wickham came inside and shut the door before Darcy could even pick it up.

"What are you trying to do with that book, Darcy?" said Wickham.

"Read it," said Darcy, sneering at him. "I find myself quite lacking in entertainment in this hovel you have me locked up in."

"Hovel?" said Wickham. "Oh, nothing is good enough for the great and mighty Darcy, I suppose. He would only be satisfied with a palace."

"I would be satisfied with nothing less than my freedom and your imprisonment," said Darcy.

"Well, you shall be free eventually," said Wickham. "And so shall I." Wickham had a few sheets of paper with him and also a quill and ink. He gestured to the table. "Remove that tray, if you would, Miss Bennet."

"Don't do it," said Darcy. "You don't have to listen to anything he says."

Elizabeth hesitated.

Wickham rolled his eyes. "Oh, must you be so petty, Darcy?" Wickham crossed to Elizabeth and thrust the paper and inkwell into her hands. Then he cleared the table himself, discarding the tray on the floor near the door. He then went back to retrieve the paper from Elizabeth and spread out the writing implements on the table. He turned to Darcy. "Come now, old friend. I have a letter for you to write."

"I'll write a letter," said Darcy. "I'll write one enumerating all the things you've done last night and today, and I'll enter it as evidence in your trial."

"No, no," said Wickham with a little laugh. "You must write what I say. Write a letter summoning Georgiana to Hammishire."

"I shall do no such thing," said Darcy, folding his arms over his chest. "And do not call her by her Christian name. You have no right—"

"You will write it," said Wickham, "or I shall shoot you." He took out the gun.

"If you shoot me," said Darcy, "then how shall I write any letters for you?"

"I don't have to kill you," said Wickham. "I could maim you horribly. Or perhaps shoot you in the bollocks so that you can't get any heirs."

Darcy's nostrils flared. "Fine. Do it."

Wickham sniffed. "You know, it will be frightfully difficult getting blood up in this room, and Agnes does like to use it for entertaining on occasion. So, perhaps I shall try some other way to convince you."

"You haven't even got the courage to pull the trigger, have you?" said Darcy.

"Shut up," said Wickham.

"If you were a real man, you wouldn't hide behind that weapon," said Darcy. "You wouldn't have hit me over the head from behind like some kind of skulking coward, you would have—"

The gun went off.

Elizabeth screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Darcy's breath was shallow.

The bullet had gone through the wall, making a tiny perfect hole that let in a chilly breeze. The room wasn't warm anyway, due to the lack of a fireplace inside. Now, it was going to be even colder in here.

 _Couldn_ _'t keep your mouth shut, could you, Fitz?_ he scolded himself. _Had to keep at him like that, didn_ _'t you? You know how he gets when he's in a temper. He's unpredictable._

Dash it all.

George Wickham got under Darcy's skin something awful. He wanted to thrash the man. He wanted to take Wickham by the neck, and—

"Well, look you've made me do," said Wickham, who had gone over to the wall and was examining the hole there. "Agnes won't be pleased about this, not at all."

"Of course you'd be clinging to the apron strings of some woman," muttered Darcy. _Lord, Fitz, shut up,_ he urged himself. He sensed that Wickham had a line he wouldn't cross. He wasn't a murderer. He wasn't even likely to want to seriously hurt anyone. But if he was goaded, Wickham got sloppy. Darcy needed to keep his head. It was only that Darcy was at the end of his rope here. This situation was unsupportable. He had to get away from Wickham.

And there was Miss Bennet to think about as well. She had been caught up in this business through no fault of her own, and now she suffered. She was under Darcy's protection now, and he had to be sure that she came out of this unscathed.

Wickham stalked across the room and pressed the pistol against Darcy's forehead. The gun had fired once, but presumably the other barrel was loaded, and so it could be fired again. Even if Wickham was bluffing, Darcy wasn't keen on putting it to chance.

Darcy twitched.

Elizabeth let out a tiny noise. "Oh, Mr. Wickham, please… _please_ …"

Wickham smiled, enjoying Elizabeth's distress. But he kept his gaze on Darcy. "Miss Bennet, I have to say I'm quite disappointed in you. Half an inquiry about your family let me know that there's really no point in ransoming you. You are quite the problem, aren't you?"

"Mr. Wickham, you must not hurt Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth.

Wickham's smile widened. "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to leave you both here, with that hole in the wall letting in an icy wind, and I'm going to instruct the servants not to come back for the rest of the day. See how you feel with nothing in your stomachs until breakfast tomorrow. See if you're a bit more amenable to writing my letter then."

Darcy glowered at Wickham.

Wickham tucked it back inside his jacket. He gathered up the letter-writing accoutrements. With a satisfied nod, he left the room.

The door shut and the latch noisily clicked into place.

Darcy shot to his feet and began pacing, hands clenched into fists. "That wretched scoundrel," he muttered. "That wretched, wretched…"

"Mr. Darcy, he wants you to write to your sister?" said Elizabeth, who was standing in the corner next to the bed, arms wrapped around herself.

Oh, that was right, Miss Bennet didn't understand any of this. Under normal circumstances, he would conceal the truth. He hadn't even told the Bingleys, but that was largely because he thought there might be some chance that Georgiana and Mr. Bingley might make a match someday, but only if Georgiana were amenable to it. He didn't want them to know anything that might besmirch his sister's reputation.

"But why?" said Elizabeth. "Why summon her? And why won't you do it?" She furrowed her brow. "Well, I do agree that you shouldn't capitulate to any of his demands. He is a horrid man, after all. But I have to say that I simply don't understand."

Darcy sighed. He stopped pacing. "Mr. Wickham and I grew up together."

"Yes, this he told me," she said. "He was the son of your father's steward, and he was much beloved by your father."

"Indeed," said Darcy. "He was indulged by my father. Treated rather like a second son and not the way a boy of his station ought to be treated. My father paid for his schooling, you understand. He built Wickham up. There is fault to be laid at my father's feet for giving Wickham a false sense of who and what he was, I must own that. It is perhaps why I have been so lenient with him up to this point."

"But there is no excuse for Mr. Wickham's current behavior."

"No, indeed not," said Darcy. "He is beyond the pale. I hadn't any notion he was capable of such things."

"And you say that you gave him the value of the living he was owed?"

"I did," said Darcy. "And then he spent it all and came back begging for more."

"But you didn't indulge him."

"No," said Darcy.

"And rightly so," said Elizabeth. "He was not due more."

"No," said Darcy, "and he had frittered it all away, gambling, drinking, whoring." He cleared his throat. "I am sorry. I seem to be entirely incapable of being appropriate with you Miss Bennet."

"It is of no consequence," she said. "We are in a rather singular situation, and furthermore, I have heard worse, sir."

He inclined his head. "Even so, I feel responsible for you, as we are both trapped here together. I would not have it said that I treated you poorly."

"Please, I am responsible for myself, insofar as that matters," she said. "I am not some innocent child."

He looked down at his feet. "I seem to have a habit of saying things that offend you, Miss Bennet. Pray excuse me."

"No…" She looked flustered. "I am sorry. It is my fault. I have too sharp a tongue. I speak before I think. It is a fault of mine."

"No," he said, raising his gaze. "It is not a fault at all. I have yet to observe that you have any faults." And then he felt color rise to his face and he looked away again. He was the one who had spoken without thinking then, wasn't he?

"That is… ridiculous," she said.

He stole a glance at her.

She was looking away as well.

They were both quiet.

Darcy realized he had been so consumed with his worry over Georgiana and his concern with Wickham that he had not given much thought to the situation between himself and Miss Bennet, but the truth was, they were locked up together in a room. They had spent a night in no one's company but their own, and so…

"About Mr. Wickham," said Elizabeth, smoothing her skirts and giving him an imperious look. He was reminded of the time that they had been speaking together in the drawing room at Netherfield and she had said to him that implacable resentment was a shade on his character.

"Yes," he said. "Well, his next scheme was to attempt to use my sister against me," he said. "He contrived to have a woman he knew installed as Georgiana's governess. This woman accompanied her to Ramsgate, and allowed Wickham access to my sister. Then Wickham attempted to elope with her. I caught wind of it and was able to stop him before he could follow through."

"Oh," said Elizabeth. "How positively horrid."

"Yes, he longs to get his hands on my sister's inheritance."

"So, this is all about her," said Elizabeth. "He has not given up on trying to marry her?"

"Apparently not," said Darcy. "Last time, he tried to do it without my knowledge, but I found out. This time, he seems to have decided that capturing me will keep me from interfering."

Elizabeth shook her head in disgust.

"But he's wrong," said Darcy. "Georgiana is all I have left. My parents are both dead. I will not let any harm come to her. There is nothing that I fear more than a threat to her."

"Of course not," said Elizabeth. "Quite right."

He tried to summon something to respond, but nothing came to him.

Silence stretched out between them. It was long. Too long.

Now, it would be ridiculous to speak. He hung his head, frustrated with himself. He had never been one of those men who was good at verbal sparring with women. He would sometimes see plays where the two leads were witty doubles of each other, and he admired the quick thought and nimble wordplay that was depicted, but he could not seem to think on his feet. And when pretty women were around, women like Elizabeth Bennet, his thoughts seemed to become downright sluggish.

Of course, he had no thought of truly pursuing her.

Well, that was a lie. The thought of pursuing her had surfaced in his mind rather more than once. Over and over, in fact. More often at night when he was falling asleep, ever since he had seen her for the first time at that dreadful public ball. He hadn't even wanted to go. He was nervous around crowds, and with so many in attendance, had he danced, he would have had to dance with all of them, one after the other in succession, and they would all have wanted him to make sparkling conversation. But a situation like that made his tongue lead.

And she held it against him. She had said so in the carriage with Wickham. _And gentlemen were scarce,_ she'd said, which cast further aspersion on him. She didn't even like him.

That was rather obvious.

And that was why he would not pursue her. One of the reasons, anyway. There were others, such as her lack of connections or her altogether dreadful mother and sisters. He was not meant to be joined to someone like her, no matter how beautiful she was or how sparkling _her_ conversation. Or how brave she seemed in the face of this awful situation they found themselves in. Why, she had barely cried. And she had tended to his wounded head. And she had even tried to argue him into sleeping on the bed and volunteered for the floor. There was steel in her.

Darcy couldn't imagine Miss Caroline Bingley doing anything other than falling apart if she were here.

But the situation was something that had to be considered now. He couldn't have been with Elizabeth before, but now she had been compromised. She was in need of protection, and so everything was different. None of this was her fault. It was all to be laid at Wickham's feet. He could not allow Elizabeth to suffer for Wickham's transgressions.

He supposed he should say something to her about it.

Yes, in the midst of this vast silence, he should open his mouth and come out with, _Well, Miss Bennet, once we get out of this, I shall marry you, and so you mustn_ _'t worry about any kind of scandal._

He didn't say anything.

It had now been silence between them for so long that the idea of speech seemed an affront to the natural order of things.

Instead, he seized one of the books, opened it, and began to read.

Elizabeth did the same.

The hours passed slowly.

#

Elizabeth had never been so hungry in her entire life.

At first, through the afternoon and early evening, she had found the gnawing feeling in her stomach manageable. It was partly because they had something to read. The books in the room were books Elizabeth had already read, but it was better to have something to occupy herself than nothing at all. She was able to distract herself from the hunger during that time.

But then, later, when they were lying down to go to sleep, it was worse. It hurt. Her stomach was tying itself in knots, growling and gurgling so loudly she was sure that Mr. Darcy could hear it.

It took much longer to fall asleep that second night than it had the first night, because she had taken little exercise during the day. She had done nothing but read, really, and she was not tired. Adding the hunger to that made it all unbearable.

Finally, she did fall asleep, but she slept fitfully, turning and tossing on the lumpy bed and waking to the pain in her stomach every few hours.

Eventually, she woke and could not go back to sleep. Without a window, it was hard to know if it was even morning or night. Only the hole in the wall from the bullet told the tale. When she saw pale daylight through it, she lit the lamp to read again.

And she shivered on the bed because it was cold in the room, and her hunger seemed to only serve to make her colder.

Eventually, Darcy woke as well. He looked her over but did not speak. The growth on his face could be termed stubble at this point. She still liked the way it looked, though she could not fathom why. Darcy took up his book as well.

She was not sure what to make of Mr. Darcy. He had said that strange thing to her yesterday, which had angered her greatly, but she had done her best not to let him see. He had said something… she could not remember the exact turn of phrase. That she was faultless or some such. Which was obviously not true. She had heard him at the Meryton assembly. He said that she was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him. That was a far cry from faultless.

Thinking about it again now brought the anger back. It was almost enough to drive the pain from her stomach.

She pondered this, thinking that perhaps she could make herself so angry that she could feed on the emotion itself and gain sustenance from it. It was a very poetic idea, anyway, even if it had little basis in fact.

She didn't know why he would have said it. She thought that he had done it to mollify her. He had said to her earlier that he didn't want anyone to think that he had treated her poorly. So he was trying to say nice things to her to help her to feel better about the situation. But things were dire and Elizabeth knew it. She would not come out of this well. She had no idea what would befall her or her family, but she knew it would be horrible.

Still, it was hard to dwell on such things when there was the ever present immediacy of her empty stomach.

So she focused on that, and on her anger toward Mr. Darcy, for treating her like a small child in need of lies and sweets.

He was odious. So terribly odious.

Wickham came back sometime in the middle of the morning. He did not bring food, and Elizabeth wanted to rake her nails across his cheeks and beg him for some bread. She felt as though she was dying.

"Listen here," said Darcy to Wickham in a tight voice. "It's all very well if you want to torture me, you know, but I don't see why you can't let Miss Bennet have something to eat. She's got nothing to do with this."

"I can't give her food," said Wickham. "She'll share it with you."

"So, give it to her and then watch her eat," said Darcy.

"I haven't time for something like that," said Wickham. "I promise, however, that I shall bring you both food as soon as you write that letter summoning Georgiana. Also, I need your permission for the wedding, since she is under one and twenty. And I shall need authorization for your funds in order to procure a special license."

"Are you insane?" said Darcy. "You think starving me for a day would entice me to surrender my only sister to your villainy?"

Wickham folded his arms over his chest. "How many days must I starve you then?"

"You'll have to starve me to death," said Darcy. "I will die to save my sister. You think that I would not?"

Wickham scoffed. "You are making it out as if some horrible fate is to befall her. She is only going to marry me, and I assure you, she is excited by the prospect. I have told you before, we are in love."

"You aren't capable of love," said Darcy. "To love, one must give, and all you do is take."

Wickham grimaced. "You truly will not write the letter?"

"I will not," said Darcy.

"Then perhaps you _will_ starve to death."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

Elizabeth was trying not to cry.

She understood that Darcy could not give in to Wickham. That was impossible, and she knew that the horrible man could not be allowed to win. If he were to marry a young girl like Darcy's sister, then Elizabeth could not even imagine the terrible things Wickham would do to the girl. He had no scruples, and she was able to see just how far he was willing to go in pursuit of money. She saw why Darcy had to do what he did.

But she was very, very hungry.

It was evening now, and she'd had nothing to eat since that crust of bread the morning before. She felt faint and lightheaded, and she could not even read anymore. The words on the page kept swimming together. Luckily, her stomach had stopped growling, but she was very weak. And she was weepy for some reason. She could not seem to keep control of herself. She was fighting her tears, but she was losing.

She was huddled on the bed, lying there staring at the bullet hole in the wall and doing her best not to start sobbing.

"Miss Bennet?" came Darcy's voice. "Are you all right?"

He was talking to her now? They hadn't spoken in a very long time. Mr. Darcy was not good company in an abduction, she was afraid. Yes, if a person were to be captured with someone, she would recommend a person other than Mr. Darcy. She tried to turn her sobs into a laugh at her own bad jest, but it didn't work, and tears began to spill out over her cheeks.

Weight on the bed.

She looked up to see that Mr. Darcy had sat down next to her and she scrambled into a seated position, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm really very sorry."

"No, don't apologize," he said. "Why are you apologizing? You've done nothing wrong."

Her lower lip trembled violently.

He reached for her hand. "Oh, Miss Bennet, this is all so dreadful. I wish that there was something I could do. I could try to break the door down again, I suppose, but I fear I have lost quite a bit of strength since we haven't eaten—"

"That's never going to work," she said, pulling her hand back. She knew that she should be polite to him, but she really was in the worst of spirits, and she didn't know how to manage a civil conversation. "You can't break a door down, Mr. Darcy."

"I'm certain I could break it down under the right circumstances," he said, seemingly offended.

She sniffed again. "I don't think so." And her voice was unsteady.

"Listen, we will get out of this."

"How?" she said.

"I haven't worked that out yet, but I know that Wickham will not truly starve us to death. He is a bad man, but he is not that bad. And he is also not very patient. He will give in, and we will find a way to negotiate out of here. I'll have to give him some outlandish sum of money undoubtedly, but that will be a small price to pay. When he comes in again, I will offer to simply pay him off. It will work, you'll see."

She swallowed her tears, trying to smile. "All right."

"And once we're free, I will look after you, I promise."

Look after her? What did he mean?

"I know that you may have noticed the disparity between our stations. Your lack of connections isn't preferable in terms of my choice for a wife, but—"

"What?" said Elizabeth. Suddenly, she was not crying at all. She was full of indignation. "Disparity between our stations? Why would you say such a thing? You are the son of a gentleman. I am the daughter of a gentleman. I would think we were on equal footing."

He drew back, sputtering. "Why, I did not mean to offend, Miss Bennet, but you cannot be ignorant to the fact that we do not travel in the same social circles."

"Oh, do we not?" she said. "How is it that I came to make your acquaintance then, if not socially?"

"I had lowered myself to attend that dreadful public ball for the sake of my friend, Mr. Bingley, who was looking for a bit of amusement, but—"

"Lowered yourself? Oh, heavens." She sprang up from the bed. "You are… are…" She gritted her teeth. "Well, if I had eaten in the past two days, I might have some kind of insult, but as I have not, my mind is blank. Think of one yourself. The worst you can think of and then apply it accordingly, because it will fit."

All the blood seemed to have drained from Mr. Darcy's face. His lips moved, as if he was trying to talk, but no sound came out.

She sniffed again, but this time out of anger.

"Am I given to understand that you are rejecting me?" said Mr. Darcy.

"Yes," she hissed.

"You realize," said Darcy, "that when we are released from this room, your reputation will be in some jeopardy? This is the _third night_ that you will not be able to account for. What other man will wish to marry you, may I ask?"

"I don't need your help," she said, jutting out her chin. "I don't need your condescension, or your horrid attempts to protect me, or whatever it is else that you are planning to do. I will find some way to make it right myself." But even as she said this, she knew that she was being ridiculous. There was no way to make it right. She had no path to do so. She was utterly at the mercy of Mr. Darcy, and she had just spit in his face.

Now, she did start to cry in earnest. She turned her back on him and she began to sob loudly.

Mr. Darcy said nothing. He did nothing.

She cried into the empty room and her sobs echoed against the walls, and there was no comfort for her anywhere.

#

Darcy was flabbergasted.

 _She hates me,_ he thought. _She truly hates me._

Of course, he'd had some inkling that Miss Bennet did not think favorably of him. She seemed to get in some little jibe against him every time that they spoke. But he tended to tell himself that these jibes were jokingly meant and that she could not really despise him, for he had given her no cause to do so.

The rancor that she had just loosed on him seemed to say otherwise. She was in an awful position, and yet she refused his offer of marriage. There could be no other reason for it than the fact that she hated him.

What could he have done to bring about such a strong emotion in this woman? He searched through everything he had done, and he could not understand it.

And now, she was sobbing as if her heart had shattered, and the sound of it was penetrating his soul, and he could hardly bear it. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, press her close like a frightened child. Smooth his hands over her hair and soothe her.

He knew better than to go near her, of course. She wouldn't welcome his touch.

It would be inappropriate, anyway, even if she had accepted his offer of marriage. She might be compromised in name, but he would not have also compromised her in deed. He was not that sort of man. And anyway, he was too hungry to think of such things.

He tried to open his mouth and force himself to speak. He wanted to tell her that he understood that he was a source of fierce dread to her, and that she was horrified by the thought of marrying him, and so he would not bring it up ever again.

He wanted to tell her that even so, she should not take on so, because he would still look after her.

What had happened to her was not her fault. And there must be some reason why she hated him. That was undoubtedly his own stupid fault. His bumbling tongue or shyness had likely brought it about. Altogether, it came to one thing, and that was that she should not be punished for this horrid occurrence.

Since she likely thought of marriage to him as a punishment, that was no longer an option. He was not sure what he could do, but he would find some way. He could arrange some other marriage for her, perhaps, or he could provide for in her and her family in lieu of the marriage. Perhaps if he was adamant that she was still pure, then he could convince the entirety of London society not to shun her. It wasn't her fault, after all. Certainly that must count for something.

Yes, he would tell her this.

And it wouldn't make it right, but perhaps it would ease her suffering just a bit and stop her frightful sobs.

He took a deep breath, schooling himself to come out with it—

And the door opened and Wickham came in.

At the sight of him, Darcy saw red. He charged the man, hurtling across the room and taking the surprised Wickham by the throat. Together, they collided with the wall next to the door.

Wickham wrapped his hand around Darcy's wrist and tried to loose his grip on his neck.

Darcy held firm, pinning the other man against the wall. He brought up his other hand to Wickham's neck as well. His thought was to squeeze the life out of him right then and there. Then they would be free of his vile creature once and for all. And what court would convict him of such an act, when he had been treated so abhorrently?

Wickham balled up a fist and drove it into Darcy's jaw.

Darcy saw bright lights, and he lost his balance, lost his grip. He wouldn't have, but he was weak from hunger, and lightheaded besides, and all his strength seemed to leave him at that moment.

Wickham hit him again, a fist to the stomach.

Darcy doubled over, trying to regain his equilibrium. But instead, he staggered and flailed and fell backwards, landing on the bed.

Wickham laughed.

"Stop it," said Elizabeth coldly.

"He started it." There was a bit of a whine in Wickham's voice.

Darcy tried to get to his feet, but he didn't. His jaw hurt. The back of his head, where he'd been hit that first night, had started to throb again, and he was in no shape to fight Wickham. More's the pity.

Damn it all, he found himself wanting to cry the way that Elizabeth had been doing moments ago. Everything seemed hopeless just then.

Wickham rearranged his cravat. "Are you quite done, then?"

Darcy just bared his teeth at the man.

Wickham was out of breath. He eyed Darcy warily. "I suppose your reaction to my coming into the room means you haven't reconsidered writing the letter?"

Darcy didn't say anything.

Wickham shrugged. "Well, you're stubborn, Darcy, I'll give you that." He turned to look at Elizabeth. "However, I have given some thought to your concern about poor Miss Bennet, and it has moved me."

"So, you'll feed her?" said Darcy, glad that at least some comfort would be provided to the poor woman.

"But of course," said Wickham.

Darcy heaved a sigh of relief. "Well thank heaven you are being reasonable about something."

"All you will need to do, Miss Bennet, is come to work here at this fine establishment."

Darcy's mouth dropped open.

Elizabeth's nostrils flared. "As a doxy?"

"Why not?" said Wickham. "You are already ruined anyway. Your father's estate is entailed, and so there is little money for you, after all. And there will be shame brought down on your entire family after all of this. You might as well make your way in the world as best you can at this point. After you have eaten, I will be the first to initiate you into your new profession, and I promise to be gentle."

"You are the most detestable man I have ever met," spat Elizabeth. "The fact that you would say such a thing—"

But she broke off, because Darcy had shot up off the bed and slammed his fist into Wickham's nose.

The sudden movement made Darcy dizzy, and he was already dizzy just as a matter of course considering he was starving, so he was doubly dizzy. He wavered on his feet, but he refused to let himself fall.

Blood was trickling out of Wickham's nose. He touched it and looked at his finger.

"Keep your hands off Miss Bennet," said Darcy darkly.

Wickham advanced on Darcy. "You seem to be quite concerned about Miss Bennet, don't you? Yes, why didn't I see it before?" He sneered in Darcy's face. And then he swerved to look at Elizabeth. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his pistol.

He fitted it under Elizabeth's chin.

Elizabeth made a high-pitched noise of surprise.

"Now," said Wickham, turning over his shoulder to look at Darcy, his eyes bright, his nose bleeding freely, "how about you agree to write that letter summoning your sister? If you don't, I will blow a hole in Miss Bennet's pretty skull."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, guys, sorry about the delay. Sick hubby, plus sick kid, plus barely recovering me means I am doing all the things and it just slipped my mind. Trying for Monday Thursday updates from here on out. We'll see how I do.**

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

"You won't shoot me," Elizabeth said with more bravado than she actually felt. "Furthermore, you have misstepped. Mr. Darcy surely cares more about his sister than he does about me."

Darcy was stricken. He was staring at her, and he wasn't speaking or moving.

Wickham looked like a madman. He wasn't even bothering to brush aside the blood that was streaking over his upper lip. "Well, Darcy? Well?"

"Mr. Darcy has told me that you are no murderer," said Elizabeth. "He has explained to me that you are a bad man, but not that bad. You are only doing this to try to make him break. But he has confided in me that he is willing to negotiate the money you may want, so this is all unnecessary. Tell him, Mr. Darcy." Perhaps she shouldn't have tipped Darcy's hand that way, but she was a bit nervous with a gun to her head, and she tended to talk a lot when she was nervous.

Wickham turned back to her. He laughed. "Perhaps when Darcy knew me, I wasn't capable of such violence, Miss Bennet. But then Darcy refused to help me, and I was forced to seek my living where I could. I had to join the regiment, and they put a gun in my hand and told me to shoot other men to death, so you might say that I have had to work through my qualms about killing."

"B-but," said Elizabeth, her voice a squeak, "they did not tell you to kill women. That is altogether a different thing."

"No," said Wickham. "In fact, it's not. Women bleed out much the same as men. It's only a pity to have to kill you, Miss Bennet. You are such a pretty thing."

Elizabeth licked her lips. "Right, then. Well, see, you don't want to shoot me, I don't think. Maybe you should put the gun down and we should talk more about, um, going to work as you said." Because being a doxy was preferable to dying. And because she couldn't seem to stop talking.

"I'll do it," said Darcy in a tight voice. "Bring me the paper, I'll write the letter. Just let Miss Bennet go."

"No," said Elizabeth, shaking her head. "He's bluffing."

"I assure you, I am not," said Wickham.

"I'll do it," Darcy said again.

#

Elizabeth sat on the bed while Darcy wrote. All the time, Wickham kept the pistol on her, although not right up against her skin. He leaned against the wall, aiming it at her casually, a perpetual smirk on his face.

At first, Elizabeth had tried to tell Darcy not to write the letter. She didn't want to be the cause of poor Georgiana being forced to be joined to Wickham, who was more wicked than words could say.

But eventually, Darcy told her tersely that he must do it, and he would thank her to kindly hold her tongue.

So, she quieted.

She wished she could go back in time to the conversation they were having before Wickham had come in and redo all of it. She wished she could swallow her stupid pride and thank Mr. Darcy for his offer of marriage and accept it. Because while she didn't think that they would be blissfully happy together, she did think that being married to him was a better option than what lay ahead of her otherwise.

And anyway, he was sacrificing his sister to save her life. Elizabeth didn't want him to, and she wished he wouldn't, but the fact that he was, well, it made him a bit less odious, she had to admit.

Also, when he had thrown himself at Wickham, or when he had punched that blackguard in the nose, he had been downright… dashing.

Maybe she had not been fair to Mr. Darcy. Maybe he was not really odious at all.

After the letter was written and the other arrangements that Wickham had asked for had been completed, Wickham took the papers away, and there was no more threat of her being shot.

Food was brought, and there was cheese as well as bread, and the tea was warmer than last time.

They ate in silence.

Well, she couldn't very well tell him she'd reconsidered his offer now. She had refused him and he clearly didn't want to marry her anyway. And besides, he had just saved her life. She should be grateful for that. He didn't owe her anything else.

"I don't suppose there's much chance of paying him off now," she said instead, which was worse. Oh, Lord, what was wrong with her that she would say something like that? He had saved her life, and now she was making it out as if he had done something wrong. "That is, I mean, I am very grateful, Mr. Darcy. You have put your sister in danger for my sake, and it is to your credit. I did not mean to imply otherwise."

Darcy was clutching at his tea cup. There was a wild look in his eyes. "My sister… After my parents' death, she reminded me of them. Of my mother especially. When I was a small boy, my mother and I were very close. Losing her, it devastated me, and I couldn't bear to look at Georgiana. I'm afraid I pushed her away. I packed her off with governesses and sent her off on excursions. Or I left her at home in Pemberley and I went off on my own. It's not as if I never spent time with her, but I could have spent more. I could have been closer to her. If I had been closer to her, then Wickham would never have been able to deceive her in the first place. And one would think I would have learned my lesson and kept her close afterward, but instead, I went off without her again. And now, she is alone, and she is vulnerable, and she will receive that letter…" His voice faltered.

"I am so awfully sorry," whispered Elizabeth. "I wish that you hadn't written the letter. I don't wish to be dead, of course, but no one deserves to be saddled with a husband like Wickham. Your sister must be spared that fate. There must be something we can do now… What if you offered him more money than her settlement?"

"More than thirty thousand pounds?"

"Oh, dear, that is quite a lot. No wonder he's gone to this trouble." Elizabeth grimaced.

"No, you're right," said Darcy. "I suppose I could pay him more. And Georgiana is worth it. I will attempt to negotiate with him when he comes back. I'm afraid that I…" He swallowed. "I am not particularly good at putting words together, I fear. When I am agitated, I become exceedingly tongue-tied."

"Oh, what a pair we are," Elizabeth let out a hollow laugh. "Here I am, unable to stop babbling when I am in a state. I wish that I could hold my tongue, but I seem incapable. Things I had said to you earlier, I must beg your pardon—"

"No, that is unnecessary," he said. "You don't need to apologize. I would only say that so far as it is in my power, I will try to keep notoriety from coming to you. You have done nothing to deserve that."

Oh, well, that was quite kind of him. Maybe if she was quite clever about it, she could bring the proposal back up again. No, there was definitely no way to do that.

"I don't know if he'll take it," said Darcy. "I don't know if he'd even take _fifty_ thousand pounds. After what he's done, he must realize that even if he made away with the money, he would never be able to show his face in the country."

"Of course," said Elizabeth, swallowing hard. "He needs your sister now. If he is married to her, then he will have her as a shield. You cannot touch him that way."

"Well, I could," said Darcy. "I could most certainly spirit her away from him and have him arrested for his villainy against you and I. But if she was publicly his wife when I did so, then…"

"It would be disastrous for her," said Elizabeth. "And her fortune? Would you be able to get that back from him?"

"I think not," said Darcy. "It would be a question for lawyers, I believe."

Elizabeth shook her head. "So, his scheme must be to keep you—us—captive until after the marriage can be performed."

Darcy nodded, his face twisting. "I should try to break the door down again."

Elizabeth didn't answer.

"Maybe I could go and bang on the door and try to bribe whoever comes to shush me," said Darcy. "I must do _something_."

Elizabeth could not disagree with him. _Let him try_ , she thought. He was right. He couldn't stand by and let it happen. He had to fight it.

#

But Darcy found that the food and drink, which he thought would sustain him, instead had the opposite effect. After his stomach had been empty for so long, being filled only made him feel tired and sluggish. He was not sure he had it in him to rush the door, nor to bang upon it and yell at the top of his lungs.

When Elizabeth lay down on the bed, he lay down too.

He slept.

But he woke in the middle of the night from a dream about Georgiana. In the dream, she had been in a wedding dress standing next to Wickham, who held a pistol under her chin. In the dream, Darcy's feet were somehow fixed to the ground. No matter how he struggled, he could not get to his sister or to Wickham to stop it all.

He didn't sleep again for some time afterward. His heart was pounding too quickly.

He thought of the last time that he had seen Georgiana. She had taken the business with Wickham rather badly. She still harbored some kind of girlish affection for the man, and Darcy knew it was his own fault. He'd kept his sister too sheltered, and no one ever paid such attention to her. Her head was too easily turned.

Georgiana was old enough to be out in society, but Darcy had not allowed her to be so.

In fact, he had delayed the business another year after Georgiana's mistake with Wickham. He had done it because he was convinced she wasn't mature enough for the London Season. But she had seen it as a punishment, and they had quarreled. She had yelled at him and told him that he wasn't her mother or father, and he didn't have the right to treat her as a baby.

He had countered that he most certainly did have the right to discipline her. He was her guardian. He was responsible for her.

She hadn't taken that well.

They had parted on bad terms. He had thought that when they saw each other again for the Christmas holidays, perhaps then things would be mended between them, but his plans had all come out badly.

And now, he was beginning to think that he had done the wrong thing by not preparing Georgiana for coming out. She was a young woman with nothing to occupy her except a string of accomplishments. She could play piano and draw and do needlepoint, but she wasn't truly diverted by these things. He had done it all wrong.

Or maybe he was only thinking these things now, because he was concerned his sister would never have a Season. If he didn't stop Wickham soon, she would have no favorable future. If only she could have had something before Wickham destroyed everything.

Perhaps he shouldn't have given in to Wickham when he held the pistol on Miss Bennet.

Darcy could not be sure that Wickham would have really pulled the trigger. Killing a woman like Miss Bennet was not something to be entered into lightly. Darcy did not think Wickham had it in him.

However, he would have never believed Wickham could abduct him or starve him or hold him at gunpoint to begin with. Wickham's depravity seemed to know no bounds.

Elizabeth's life was not to be treated as a trifle.

He rolled over and looked up at the bed where she was sleeping. She was facing him, resting her face on her hands. She was wound into a tight ball there, likely to keep herself warm. She looked so delicate and small and lovely. It was a pity she despised him so.

He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.

Maybe he should bring the topic back up again. Maybe if he reasoned with her, she might come to realize that marrying him was her best alternative.

But no, he would not pressure her. It was wrong of him to want to convince her when she so clearly loathed him.

He wasn't sure why he kept thinking of marrying Elizabeth, anyway, not when he should be worried about Georgiana. It was only that Elizabeth was here, and she kept doing things like combing out her hair with her fingers and then deftly braiding it over her shoulder, her nimble fingers threading their way through the dark cloud of her hair. It was mesmerizing. He could think of nothing else.

Elizabeth was so _distracting_. Even in a dire situation like this, she was bright and magnetic. He was drawn to her in a way that rivaled sense.

When he did fall asleep, he dreamed again, only this time, he dreamed of Elizabeth's dancing eyes and her abundant laughter. He dreamed of her slender neck and her graceful fingers.

He awoke sweaty and bothered, and it was as if he hadn't rested at all.

#

Elizabeth was roughly shaken awake the next morning by Wickham. There were two other men in the room, and they each had Darcy by the arms. They were leading him out of the room.

"Come on, then, Miss Bennet," said Wickham. "I still haven't figured out what it is exactly I want to do with you, I must admit, but since you know too much, I feel as though I should keep an eye on you." He forced her out of bed.

"Are we going somewhere?" said Elizabeth.

Wickham dragged her toward the door. "As a matter of fact, yes."

"To meet Georgiana no doubt," said Elizabeth. "You've sent off that dreadful letter and now you're about to fulfill your awful plan."

"Shut up, Miss Bennet," said Wickham dryly. "You talk altogether too much."

The other two men brought Darcy along as well. Elizabeth was given a ratty—but warm—cloak, rather too big for her. Darcy was given a greatcoat, only his was too small and had several rips in. It was also missing several buttons and gapped when Darcy tried to button it, so he gave up on the enterprise and allowed himself to be led out with the coat open to the cold wind. They were taken out of the house and into a carriage.

"Who are these men?" Elizabeth asked. "Don't _they_ know too much?"

"These men are being paid handsomely," said Wickham.

"Yes," said Darcy darkly. "With the funds you forced me to release to you."

Wickham turned to one of the men. His tone was mild. "Hit him."

The man hauled back a fist and punched Darcy in the stomach.

Darcy grunted and winced. While he was recovering, the two hired men shoved him into the coach.

Once they were all settled, Wickham inside with Elizabeth and Darcy and the men above with the driver, the carriage took off into the cold brightness of the morning.

Elizabeth sat close to Darcy and could only think that this had to be an improvement on their situation. It was one thing to escape from a room in a house. But to escape from this carriage? It must be easier. Why, there was no door to break down anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

At midday, Wickham stopped for a meal at a tavern. He fed Darcy and Elizabeth but only bread and ale. He left them in the carriage under the hired men's guard, and he went inside to eat.

Elizabeth's mind began to race. Perhaps this was their chance. Maybe they could get free of Wickham now somehow. She didn't think that she and Darcy could use brute force to get out of it. Darcy might be a match for one of the men, but not both, and she was not going to be able to fight anyone off. No, they must be crafty about it. They must find some way to use their intellect to their advantage.

She began to wonder what she could say to the hired men. Perhaps she could tell them that she had begun to bleed and that she needed privacy to deal with the situation. Then she could get away. Men were always horrified in the face of such things. They wouldn't want to touch her, let alone stop her.

But that left Darcy behind. She might be able to go on her own and get help, though. She would ask him what he thought, and if he thought it might work—

Darcy was charging out of the carriage.

"Mr. Darcy, where are you going?" she said in an urgent voice.

He didn't respond. Instead, he was out of the carriage, tackling one of the hired men. Darcy and the man went down onto the ground, and Darcy began raining blows on the man's head.

Elizabeth climbed out of the carriage after him, looking about. The driver was currently seeing to their horses. There were two other carriages nearby, and the drivers for both were looking at them, watching the scuffle between Darcy and the hired man.

"Help!" Elizabeth called to the nearest one. "We have been captured and abused, and the man responsible is even now in the tavern. He must be arrested, and we must be freed."

"Shut up, girly," said the second hired man, who was looking back and forth between Darcy and his companion and Elizabeth.

Darcy had the other man by the throat. His face was red as he throttled him.

"See here," said the second man to Darcy. "You'll have to stop that." He seized Darcy by the back of the neck and yanked him off the first man.

"Please!" called Elizabeth. "We are victims of these ruffians, and we need your help."

The second man turned back to her, reaching around to clap a hand over her mouth.

She bit him, just as she'd done to Wickham.

The man recoiled. "You little—"

"What is going on?" came Wickham's voice. He was making his way toward the carriage. "Are the prisoners attempting to escape?"

"Prisoners?" said Elizabeth, horrified.

Wickham turned to one of the other drivers and gave him a little wave. "These two are horse thieves. We're transporting them to trial."

"That's a lie," growled Elizabeth.

Wickham laughed. "Oh, she's a spirited one. Back in the carriage, Hollow Leg Holly."

"What?" said Elizabeth, thoroughly confused.

"That's right," Wickham said to the other driver. "She's got a wooden leg. Uses it to smuggle stolen jewelry sometimes, or so they say."

"That's…." Elizabeth could hardly even put words together.

All this time, Darcy had been struggling against the two hired men, but the first one was on his feet now, and between the two of them, they had subdued him.

"Tie that one up," said Wickham to the hired men. He gave another wave to the drivers. "All right, everyone. Show's over. We've got them well in hand. Thanks for your help."

#

Elizabeth couldn't understand why people were so quick to believe Wickham. Of course, she herself had fallen for his lies. She had been happy to believe that he was a good man and that he had been hurt by Mr. Darcy.

She was fairly sure that a story about a hollow-legged horse thief was less believable than a story about two members of the gentry being captured by ruffians. By all rights, no one should believe Wickham over her. But there was something about him.

He had a pleasant face. She supposed that didn't hurt. And he had a confidence about him when he delivered his lies. He seemed reliable. Still, she was appalled that no one had come to their rescue.

They traveled along for the rest of the afternoon.

Darcy was now bound hand and feet. Wickham goaded him a few times, but Darcy refused to answer. He rested his head against the side of the carriage and looked grim.

Near nightfall, Wickham stopped again. He informed them he would be staying the night in the inn and taking his dinner inside. He was too famished to deal with them at the moment. He would sort them out once he'd had something to eat. They were to stay in the carriage under the guard of the hired men.

Once he had left them alone inside the carriage, Elizabeth began immediately working on Darcy's ropes, loosening the knots. They were tight, but she had nimble fingers. She could free him.

"I don't see what the point of that is," Darcy muttered. "I'm no match for the men he hired. I couldn't do anything against them, couldn't you see? Even with my sister in dreadful danger, I could not summon the strength for it. They bested me."

"Mr. Darcy, there are two of them, and only one of you," said Elizabeth, also in a quiet voice, lest the men outside hear. "And furthermore, you are not at your best. You have not been fed properly for the past several days, and you have not slept well. Also, you have suffered various blows to the head and to the rest of your body. You are being far too hard on yourself."

"I don't need you to patronize me, Miss Bennet," said Darcy, nostrils flaring.

"We need to make a plan," said Elizabeth. "I had an idea earlier, but I'm not sure it will work. I think instead, I should try something else. Let me tell you what it is, and you tell me if you think we can make it work."

"All right," he whispered.

"I have noticed that one of the men has a pistol," she said. "If we could get that away from him, then perhaps we could threaten them with it, much as Wickham has done to us. We could take the entire carriage."

"Well, that would be something," said Darcy. "But I can't get the gun from him."

"I might be able to," said Elizabeth.

"What? How?"

"Well, I… I do not usually employ the sort of tactics that my younger sisters do with the men of the regiment, but I am more than capable of a bit of silly flirting, and I think that perhaps if I ask in the right way—"

"Miss Bennet, I don't think that's a good idea."

Her fingers faltered on his knots. "I know that you do not find me handsome enough to tempt you, but I think I am winsome enough for some hired men, do you not?"

"Handsome enough to…" He turned to her sharply. "Oh, Lord, at that horrid ball, you heard me."

She didn't respond. She went back to working at the knots.

"No wonder you loathe me.

"I don't loathe you, Mr. Darcy." And now she was blushing. She tucked her head down, hoping he wouldn't notice. It was somewhat dark in the carriage anyway. Dusk was upon them.

"You know, I didn't mean it at all," he said. "I'm so completely sorry. It isn't what I think of you."

"It was a long time ago, sir, and it hardly matters now," she said. "You do not need to apologize. And I don't care what you think of my looks."

He coughed. "No, I suppose you don't. But then, why would you? Oh, dash it all, Miss Bennet, when I said I—"

"Mr. Darcy, really, is this what we should be discussing? We can't be sure how long Mr. Wickham will be gone. We must move quickly."

"Of course." He drew in a breath. "Listen, I couldn't allow you to put yourself in danger in that way. There is no way you can go out there and… and attempt to charm men like that."

"I think I could," she said. "I truly do."

"But they are not like men of the regiment," said Darcy. "These are coarse men who would have no idea how to address a woman of your station."

"All the more reason," she said. "They will be even more curious about me. I do think it could work."

"I can't allow it."

"Well, you're not in charge, are you?" she said. There. His arms were free. He could untie the knots on his feet himself. She flounced out of the carriage before he could say anything else.

#

Darcy tried to reach after her, but his fingers fell just short of touching her skirts as she climbed out of the carriage. He swore under his breath. He tried to get up, but his legs were still bound together.

He swore some more, and then began to try to untie the knots. Unfortunately, his fingers were larger and less deft than Miss Bennet's were. He was not going to get himself untied as quickly as she had seen to his hands.

He could hear her outside of the carriage. She was giggling.

Oh, Lord, she did sound like one of her sisters.

"Oh, la," Elizabeth said in a high voice. "I'm so very glad that awful Mr. Wickham is away. I detest him. He is so mean to me. And I've done nothing to make him so, I assure you. But when I laid eyes on the two of you, I knew right away that you were nothing like Mr. Wickham. I said to myself, 'Lizzy, those men look like good and kind men. They'd never treat a woman the way Mr. Wickham does.'"

A rumble of response from one of the men. Darcy couldn't make it out. He worked harder at his knots. He hated to admit it, but she was actually good at this. Her attempt might well work better than his own.

Elizabeth laughed. "Well, yes, Lizzy _is_ my name. But you mustn't call me that. It would be improper." She laughed again and then lowered her voice. "Of course, I suppose you might if you wanted. As long as no one heard you, that is. It could be our secret."

Another deep rumble of a response.

"Definitely never breathe a word of it to Mr. Wickham. Oh, how I hate him. He is such a ridiculous man, don't you think? Why, he isn't even man enough to control Mr. Darcy on his own. He needs to hire both of you to do it. And of course, that's because he's a weakling, and the two of you…" Her voice dropped even lower, taking on a breathy quality. "You're both very strong, aren't you?"

Darcy's trousers suddenly felt tight. Dear Lord, what would possess her to speak like that? It was obscene. What could she possibly be thinking?

"Oh, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth laughed dismissively. "La, no, I have nothing to do with him. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Mr. Wickham wouldn't let me go home. Now, is that fair, I ask you?"

"It doesn't sound fair, miss," said one of the men, the first intelligible thing that Darcy had heard from one of them.

"No, it doesn't," Elizabeth agreed. "It doesn't at all." She sighed. "Do you think Wickham will be coming back soon? I imagine he'll take me away then, and I'd much rather stay out here with you if I could. The two of you are lovely company, really. When I laid eyes on you both, I thought that as well. I know you were kind men, and that you were good company, and I wanted to be free of everyone, for it to be the two of you and me and no one else. And now, here we are." She let out another laugh.

"Indeed, miss," said one of the men, and there was a quality to his voice that Darcy didn't much like.

Oh, dear God, why was it so difficult to untie his stupid feet?

"Oh!" said Elizabeth. "I can see your pistol. It's sticking right out."

Darcy gritted his teeth. Had she meant that the way he'd just taken it? No, she couldn't have meant it. She was ignorant of such things. She was the daughter of a gentleman, and—

"I would so love to hold it," said Elizabeth.

Darcy shut his eyes. He was aroused. God help him, he was trying to get of this coach, and he was in a terrible situation, and he couldn't even see her, and the effect her words were having on him was monumental. He couldn't imagine what she was doing to those men out there. She really was putting herself in danger. If he didn't get out there soon—

"You want to hold my pistol, love?" said a knowing male voice.

"Yes, please," said Elizabeth in a smiling voice. "Very much."

Darcy worked at the knots with gusto.

"All right, then," said the man, chuckling. "Well, you hold this one, and then I'll let you hold the other one as well."

"The other one?" Elizabeth sounded truly puzzled.

Darcy managed to unravel the knots and shot to his feet. He burst out of the carriage to find that Elizabeth had turned the pistol on the two men.

She lifted her chin. "Back away, both of you. I don't want to shoot you, but I will."

"Oh, you little hussy," said one of the men, shaking his head.

"Better listen to her," said Darcy.

"You wouldn't shoot us, would you, lass?" said the other man.

"I most certainly would," said Elizabeth, and there was fire in her voice. Darcy half-believed her.

Elizabeth gave him the gun. "Hold this," she said. "Make sure they don't do anything while I climb up to gather the reins."

Darcy was a bit surprised, but he held his tongue and turned the gun on the men.

"Listen, don't shoot us," said the first man. "We're only in this for the money. It isn't worth anyone's life, now, is it?"

"Don't try anything, and no one gets hurt," said Darcy.

Elizabeth called down for him to hand her the gun. "I'll cover them while you climb up and join me here."

He handed the pistol over, and then climbed onto the driver's bench next to her.

The reins were in her lap.

"You have much experience driving a carriage, madam?" said Darcy.

"I used to sit up next to the driver when I was a little girl and he'd let me guide sometimes," she said, handing him back the gun.

He turned with the pistol to cover the other men, who were standing with their hands up. In the distance, he could see Wickham emerging from the inn. "Now, Elizabeth, go."

Elizabeth spurred on the horses, and the carriage started to move, pulling away from inn.

Wickham noticed and started to run.

Darcy couldn't help but smile as they pulled away, leaving nothing but kicked-up dust in their wake.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm going to post two chapters today, just to get things moving a little. Enjoy!**

 **CHAPTER NINE**

"Should we stop so that you can get back inside the carriage?" Darcy was saying.

"I don't need to be inside," said Elizabeth. The breeze was in her face and they were moving down the road at a good clip. She felt happy to be free and moving. "Or aren't you satisfied with my driving?"

"Your carriage driving is quite good," said Darcy.

"I suppose it's not exactly the proper sort of thing for a woman like myself to indulge in, but considering the circumstances..."

"I was only concerned with your comfort."

"Well, I am quite comfortable where I am."

"Excellent, then."

"Excellent." She turned to him. "I suppose we should give some thought as to where we are going. I assume we need to go to Hammishire to intercept Georgiana."

"Indeed," said Darcy.

"Well, we don't know where we are," said Elizabeth. "I suppose we will need to stop to find that out."

"Yes, I suppose so." Darcy turned to look over his shoulder. "I only want to be quite sure we are free of Wickham."

"I agree," said Elizabeth. "It would not do to tangle with him again so soon."

"He has resources," said Darcy. "He forced me to sign over funds to him. We need to make sure that we do arrive at Hammishire before—"

There was a loud crack and something flew off the carriage. The horses continued on, oblivious, but the front left side of the carriage was now dipping down low and skidding against the road.

"Stop!" yelled Darcy.

Elizabeth tugged on the reins, slowing the horses until they stopped. She watched as Darcy climbed down off of the carriage, and then she joined him.

"It's a wheel, isn't it?" said Elizabeth.

"Yes," said Darcy. "Completely broken. Half of it is back the road there." He gestured.

Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip. "I don't suppose you know how to repair a carriage wheel?"

"If I had tools or material or something of that nature, perhaps, but…" He sighed. "No."

"Well, neither can I," she said.

They were both quiet for a few moments.

"We'll, um, we'll take the horses," said Darcy.

"Of course," she said.

"They're not saddled or anything," Darcy muttered, "but we'll have to manage." He went to the horses and began to undo them. There were four of them. The horses stood still at attention while they were freed of their harnesses to the carriage. He looked back at Elizabeth. "We only need two of the horses. I suppose we should simply let the others go?"

Distantly, there was a rumble of thunder.

Elizabeth sighed inwardly. Could things go worse? Just as they were making their escape, they broke a wheel. And now, with no carriage, it sounded like it might rain, and they would be out in the elements.

A cold wind whipped down the road.

Elizabeth hunched into her cloak, pulling it tight around her body. "The horses will probably run back to the inn, I think."

"Thereby alerting Wickham to the idea that we had trouble," said Darcy. He sighed. "That's no good. But we can't leave the horses tied to the carriage. It's cruel."

"Yes, there doesn't seem to be anything for it," said Elizabeth.

Darcy worked at freeing the remaining horses. He surveyed them and selected two. He had left their reins attached and he used that to lead them over to Elizabeth.

She took hold of the reins.

Darcy went over and completely removed everything from the other horses, and then shooed them off.

But the horses didn't move, just looked at Darcy as if they expected he might have an apple or a lump of sugar in one of his pockets. Darcy hit them on their backsides and sent them off back in the direction of the inn.

Another peal of thunder, this one closer.

Darcy returned to Elizabeth.

She was absently stroking one of the horse's necks. It seemed a little concerned about the thunder and the change of circumstances. "Shh," she murmured to it. "It'll be all right."

"You have much experience with horses?" said Darcy.

"A fair amount," said Elizabeth. "We didn't have enough for all of us to ride, of course, so my sisters and I tended to walk most places."

"Have you ever ridden a horse bare back?" said Darcy.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Mr. Darcy, in order to do that, wouldn't I need to ride… astride?"

"Yes, I would think so," said Darcy. "I don't see how a woman could manage riding sideways without the proper saddle."

"But… well, that's dangerous, isn't it?" said Elizabeth. "I've always heard that if women do so, it can do damage to their ability to have children."

"Oh, that's ridiculous," said Darcy. "You'll be fine, Miss Bennet, I assure you."

"I don't think women's thighs are shaped properly to—"

Lightning forked its way across the sky—a huge bright splinter of it, accompanied by an incredibly loud crack of thunder.

The horses both reared up on their hind legs.

Elizabeth, startled, let go of their reins.

The horses took off at full speed, galloping down the road.

Darcy yelled.

Elizabeth moaned.

Darcy took off running after the horses. "Come back. Stop at once!" he yelled.

Elizabeth picked up her skirts and ran too.

But it was no good. The horses were moving far too quickly for them to catch up with them.

Eventually, Darcy slowed to a walk.

Elizabeth caught up to him, panting.

He rounded on her. "You let go of them!"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to. The lightning startled me too."

He kicked at the road, letting out a string of curses.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said again.

He didn't respond.

She was quiet too. For once, she didn't seem to have anything to say.

Overhead, dark clouds moved in, and it was suddenly very, very dark. There were no stars and no moon to light their way. And Elizabeth was quite certain that it was going to start pouring down the rain at any moment.

#

But for some reason, the rain never came. Elizabeth would have said they were lucky if there had been anything else lucky about the situation. No, under the circumstances, the lack of rain only meant that they weren't entirely doomed, she supposed.

They walked, side by side, on the edge of the road, in the darkness.

"Perhaps we'll come upon the horses by and by," Darcy said eventually.

"Yes," she said. "Perhaps."

"It was not truly your fault that they got away," he said. "You would not have been able to hold them back anyway. They are strong beasts. If they wanted to run, they were going to run. It is no one's fault but the thunder."

"It is kind of you to say so, sir."

"I am only telling the truth," he said.

"Well, maybe I should have given you the reins," she said.

"I would not have been strong enough to hold them off either," he said. "Horses are stronger than men."

They walked in silence for some time longer.

They did not see the horses.

"Perhaps we should go back?" said Elizabeth. "It may yet rain, and we have no shelter. We could take cover in the carriage, even if the wheel is broken."

"And have Wickham find us straight away?" said Darcy. "I hardly think so."

"Maybe the other horses, the ones you sent back to the inn, maybe they will be close by?"

"Likely not," said Darcy.

"Well, then, we should simply keep walking?"

"I suppose so."

"We don't know where we are or where we are going," she said. "And it is getting late. We'll need to rest, especially if we have no means of transportation besides walking."

"If we walk, perhaps we'll come to a house," said Darcy. "Then we can be fed and have beds to sleep in, and we can write letters to our loved ones, and this nightmare will be over."

"All right," said Elizabeth. "But what if we don't come to a house?" And privately, she wondered that they would get such a reception at any house. They were dirty and ragged, both of them. She did not suspect that either of them looked like they were gentry. Darcy's stubble was approaching what might be termed a beard. They looked like ruffians. What respectable man and woman traveled together thus?

She did not say this aloud, however.

They walked for some time longer.

Her feet began to hurt, and she felt tired. The more tired she felt, the worse temper she found herself in. "Well, how long are we going to walk?"

"I don't know," said Darcy, who didn't sound in a good temper either. "As long as we have to."

"We should go back to the carriage," she said.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

She stopped walking. "You know, that's always the way with you. Mr. Darcy, who knows all. _He_ judges whether or not young ladies are to be deemed accomplished. _His_ good opinion once lost, is lost forever. _He_ thinks we need to walk. Well, _I_ don't want to walk anymore."

"Frankly, I don't want to be in this situation at all, Miss Bennet," he said. "I know that you despise me, but I think that you are unfair in your opinion toward me. You bring up unnecessary slights from before that have nothing to do with the situation at hand.'

"I believe they _are_ relevant, after all, because you are so unmoving and reliant on your superiority. You think you are the great Mr. Darcy—"

"I assure you, Miss Bennet, I think nothing of the sort. My opinion of myself is not so magnificent as you make it out. And besides, you say you do not want to walk, but you want to go back to the carriage, and that would require walking, would it not? So, make up your mind." His voice had started out low, but by the end of his speech, he was bellowing.

She wasn't cowed. Instead, she put her hands on her hips and stood on tiptoe to get in his face. "We cannot walk all night, sir. And to continue walking when we have no sure knowledge of where we are going or whether it leads us toward our goal or not is folly."

"So, you think I am foolish, then?"

"In fact, I do."

"Yes, well you… you are a most inappropriate woman. The things you said to those hired men—"

"I was only trying to get us free, and I was successful, unlike you, who threw himself in there and tried to fix everything with brute force—"

"And driving a carriage to boot! No respectable lady—

"You wanted me to ride _astride!_ "

"My mother and her sisters always rode astride. Why, my aunt, Lady Catherine, still does it when it suits her. I assure you that none of my mother's sisters, nor my mother, had any trouble bearing children. It is all a complete fancy."

"Why would it be a fancy?" she said. "Why would men lie about such things?"

"Because they don't want anything between their wives' thighs besides—" And here he broke off, passing a hand over his face.

"What?" she said. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, and he turned in a circle, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "I think we should go back to the carriage. You can sleep inside, and I shall stand guard for Wickham."

She was thoroughly confused. Why had he suddenly given in to her? They had been in the middle of a shouting match, and then it was as if something had broken him. "Well… I do think we should go back to the carriage. But surely we can both sleep inside. It will be a bit… lopsided, I suppose, without a wheel, but we'll each have one side to lay down on."

"No. No, absolutely not," said Darcy. "And I'll thank you not to yell at me anymore." He took off back up the road, back in the direction of the carriage.

She went after him. "Well, I shall try not to yell at you, but you are infuriating sometimes, and I don't seem to be able to help myself."

"Yes, well, if you're going to do it, could you try not to allow so much color to come into your cheeks at the very least?"

"What do my cheeks have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," muttered Darcy, and he walked more quickly.

#

Darcy did not see how he could be so badly afflicted with attraction for Miss Bennet, not in the situation they were in. Tired, half-starved, dirty. Truly, there should be nothing on his mind but saving Georgiana and finding food and a place to sleep.

But damn it all if Elizabeth didn't seem to set him aflame.

Especially when she got herself into a passion like she had. She was yelling at him and calling him names and insulting him, and he was thinking about how he wanted to propel her backward into one of those nearby tree trunks and shut her up by pressing his lips against hers.

And he didn't want to stop there. Oh, no. He wanted to do all manner of improper things to her, and if she didn't stop saying things about riding astride or her _thighs_ , he thought he might—

He walked faster.

She was yammering away behind him, trying to keep up, but he wasn't listening to her anymore. The more he listened to her the worse it got.

He didn't even care that she hated him. That didn't matter a jot to him. He was going to make her like him. No, maybe he wasn't. What did he care if she liked him or not? He didn't.

The fact of the matter was, however, she was going to marry him, and that was the end of it. No one was going to stop him from having her. He already felt as though she was his.

Of course, he couldn't force her into it, not if she was truly against the idea. Well… couldn't he? Before, he had presented the matter to her as if he was trying to assure her that she need not worry about his intentions. She had been offended, and then she had offered resistance.

Perhaps what he needed to do was simply to not allow her to offer any resistance at all. He would inform her of how things were going to be, and she would have to accept it.

Yes.

He blew noisy air out of his nose and his pace slowed a bit.

He felt a bit of peace now, his course decided.

Elizabeth caught up to him. She was out of breath, and her hair had come completely free from the ribbon she'd been using to braid it. It hung down her back, thick and wild. Strands of it were sticking to her face, and she was endeavoring to push them aside.

He didn't think he had ever wanted to kiss a woman so badly in his life. He clenched his hands into fists.

"Mr. Darcy," she heaved.

"Shut up, Miss Bennet," he said darkly and picked up the pace to get ahead of her again.

"Listen," she called from behind him, "if you really don't want to go back to the carriage—"

"Is there no way you can cease speaking?"

"I…" Her voice was small. "Not really."

He snorted.

"I shall try," she said. "I shall try very hard."

"Do that," he said to her.

They walked in silence for some time. She trailed just behind him, as if she was frightened to get closer to him again.

He realized he'd been quite awful to her. He'd snapped at her and bellowed at her. She didn't like him as it was. What he'd done had likely done nothing to ingratiate him to her. He was a fool.

Did he really think he could order a woman like Elizabeth to marry him and that she would do his bidding?

Elizabeth was not the sort of woman who could be ordered about.

But he didn't know how he was going to make her like him either. Typically, women were favorably disposed toward him. That may have been because of his family's standing or his, well, his wealth, but whatever the case, it was something he had taken for granted. He didn't know that he'd ever had to actually woo a woman before. He wasn't sure how to go about it.

But he supposed he should probably apologize. For everything.

"Miss Bennet," he began.

"Yes?" she said eagerly, coming up next to him. "Does this mean you'll talk to me now?"

"I want to apologize."

"Oh, don't worry yourself over it," she said. "Lots of people tell me I talk too much. Not so much at home, of course, because there everyone talks. My mother talks a great deal more than I do, and my younger sisters are always chattering, and so I suppose that sometimes I think that I don't talk much at all. Because in relation to the amount they talk, I don't, you see? But then I will speak to someone else, and they will chide me for going on so. It's worse when I'm nervous. I think I mentioned that."

"I don't mean to apologize for just now."

"Oh," she said.

"Not _only_ for just now," he said. "For other things as well. I want to explain about the Meryton assembly."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, really." She laughed a little, sounding embarrassed. "That seems like a million years ago."

"Listen, I said what I said only because I wanted an excuse," he said. "I needed to get Bingley to leave me alone. It wasn't anything about—" And then he broke off. Because they had rounded a bend in the road and there, where the carriage should have been, was nothing except the broken wheel lying by the side of the road.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Elizabeth tried to suggest that they did not have the right spot. She said that maybe the carriage was just a bit further on, and that the broken wheel wasn't even their broken wheel. After all, all of the scenery looked the same to her.

The road they had been traveling on wound through a thick wood, and there was nothing on either side but trees. Mostly fir trees, still dense even in the late fall.

But Darcy said they must not tell themselves lies. The carriage had been found and retrieved, probably by Wickham. Darcy thought that Wickham had it taken back to the inn where it could be repaired. He would likely be on his way in the morning. They, however, had no way to continue the journey except on foot, and now they had backtracked all the way that they had walked in the first place.

Elizabeth apologized until Darcy told her to stop. She said that it was her fault that they had gone back for the carriage. Now that she thought about it, it was really a stupid idea, and she wasn't sure why she'd insisted on it. Probably, she wasn't thinking clearly because of the wretchedness of their circumstances. Darcy shouldn't listen to her anymore. He had been against her, and he should have stayed steadfast and not given in.

"Indeed," Darcy said in response, as if he wasn't listening to her.

Mr. Darcy must think of her as such an annoyance. That ugly woman he'd never wanted to dance with in the first place who had no connections and a frightful family. Not only that, she wouldn't stop talking.

True, Mr. Darcy had his own faults. But she no longer thought of him as odious, not exactly. He had been badly treated by Wickham, even though he had attempted to do the right thing. And he cared about his sister. And she rather liked the way he looked with his beard for some reason.

"We have to rest," Darcy said to her.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," said Elizabeth.

"Maybe we can find some sort of shelter in the woods," said Darcy. "Perhaps under one of the larger evergreen trees? I used to play inside them as a boy. We will be concealed inside. The pine needles will hide us from any who might see. And they will provide a barrier from the wind and some warmth as well."

Elizabeth suddenly realized that they were going to be sleeping on the ground that night. Poor Mr. Darcy had been sleeping on the floor for many nights already, so perhaps he would be more acclimated to it. And the bed she'd been sleeping on had been uncomfortable and cold. But this… outside in the elements? Well, she had never done such a thing, not even when she was young.

Darcy found them a large evergreen tree, as he had said.

Inside, it was as if they were in their own small cone-like shelter. It was not so bad. Of course, there were pine needles all over the ground, and they pricked her when she lay down, but she simply had to extract them as best she could. She was quite tired. She thought she might be able to sleep regardless.

She and Mr. Darcy lay down on their backs side by side, nearly a foot between them.

She shut her eyes.

It was significantly colder now that she wasn't moving. The walking had been exhausting, but it had kept her blood moving. Now her fingers were quite cold. She shivered.

"Miss Bennet?" came Mr. Darcy's voice.

Oh, was his voice always so deep like that? It seemed to reverberate through her, and the sound of it seemed to wake something in her. What it was, she didn't know. It was pleasant, though. "Yes?" she whispered back, slightly breathless.

"Are you cold?"

"Well, it isn't warm out here."

"So am I," he said. "I propose we put my greatcoat beneath us and your cloak on top, like a coverlet, and huddle closer. For warmth."

"Oh," she said. "Well, that sounds… practical." She shivered again, and she wasn't sure if it was in response to the cold or how deep his voice was.

"Yes," he said. "It's only sensible that we do whatever we can to stay warm, after all."

"We must do the sensible thing, I suppose," she said softly.

And then there was a flurry of movement, removing coats and spreading them out and trying to pull them over and scooting closer to each other. They were so close that she could smell his scent mingled with the pine needles, and he smelled so very, very male that the scent made her feel warm despite the cold.

Finally, they were still.

His coat was beneath them and her cloak was over top.

One of his arms was fitted under her neck, like a pillow, and her body was pressed into his, one of her arms trapped between them where it was quite, quite warm. The other she had wrapped around his waist, and his other arm was around her.

She had never been this close to a man before.

It was nice.

Not only because of the warmth, but because of that same pleasant feeling that had woken earlier. It was more intense now. It tingled. It seemed concentrated around her thighs, which made her wonder all the more about that comment that Mr. Darcy had been making about horses and whatever it was that men didn't want between their wives' thighs. She felt curious about that, and the curiosity seemed to come from some dark, secret place that she didn't quite understand.

No, that wasn't true. She _did_ understand it, only the understanding came from her physical instinct, not from her mind. It was something ancient and primal, something powerful. She didn't know how to give it words, but she certainly understood, and the closer she burrowed against Mr. Darcy, the better she understood.

He made a noise, a sort of satisfied hum, and he tightened his grip on her.

She sighed a little.

"Warmer?" he asked. His voice seemed deeper still, or maybe it was because her ear was against his chest and it vibrated through her, making something in the core of her being tighten.

"Yes, much," she murmured.

"Good," he said.

"You?" she said.

"Oh, quite," he replied.

"Good," she said.

She had an odd, stray thought go through her brain then. That the next thing she was supposed to do was to lift her face to him and offer him her lips. That they ought to be kissing now, that it was the only rational thing that _could_ be happening.

But then she remembered that Mr. Darcy didn't even find her attractive.

He was only doing this for warmth, for practicality.

The ancient instinct inside her sent up an objection to this, but she silenced it. Mr. Darcy had not wanted to dance with her. He had offered marriage to her, but only out of obligation, and with a long list of offenses to lay at her door.

He didn't want to kiss her.

And that was a shame, she thought, sighing again, but this time wistfully, because she was feeling as though she might very much like kissing Mr. Darcy. Very much indeed.

#

Darcy was in a pleasurable sort of agony and he had only himself to blame for it.

He was the one who had suggested this closeness, and now he had it, and he couldn't wish for anything otherwise. After all, it was definitely warmer and more comfortable. If he weren't so frightfully aroused at the moment, he might be able to drift off to sleep.

He was worried she could feel him, because he straining against his trousers and they were pressed against each other. They were touching everywhere. One of her hands was pressed between them, and it was very close to his crotch. She could probably lift her hand and turn her wrist and… and _cup_ him.

A awful shudder of ecstasy went through him at the thought.

Not that a woman like Elizabeth would do such a thing. Not that he could expect her to have any knowledge of—

He groaned softly, thinking of her talking about pistols sticking out earlier. His hips moved a little, completely against his will, and he drove himself against her softness.

She made a tiny mewling sort of noise, as if the movement pleased her. She wriggled herself against him, moving closer.

Lord, this was hell.

But he wouldn't stop it for the world. He didn't want to let go of her. And he was more convinced than ever that he was going to marry her. He simply didn't know how he was going to bring that about yet.

She hadn't objected to their closeness, the way that he embraced her small, soft form now, and so perhaps she did not despise him as much anymore.

But that was likely wishful thinking on his part. He had done nothing to recommend himself to her. In fact, he had been gruff and short with her, and he had been interrupted before he'd been able to apologize properly.

He considered speaking then, trying to apologize now, but it seemed as though such a task would require a fair amount of difficult thinking, and all the blood in his brain seemed to have traveled to other parts of his body at the moment. He did not trust his capacity for speech, which was inferior at the best of times.

And anyway, speaking would break the spell that had settled over them. She might move away from him, and he couldn't have that. He wanted to hold her like this for the rest of the night. And every night after that. He wanted them pressed close like this but without any of their clothes, and he wanted to run his hands over every soft curve she possessed.

She wanted that, didn't she? Certainly the way she fit against him, the way she eagerly huddled close to him indicated that she was as eager for him as he was for her.

 _Or,_ he thought sourly, _she could just be cold._

He admonished himself to stop these thoughts and go to sleep.

#

When they woke in the morning, Elizabeth didn't want to leave the circle of Darcy's arms for the chill of the morning. They were cocooned together in their warmth beneath her cloak, and it was the closest thing to comfort she'd felt in days.

Of course, her back was cold, and her body was stiff, and her arm had fallen to pins and needles, and she wasn't really comfortable. One couldn't be really comfortable on the ground.

At any rate, she didn't move, not even to get the blood moving back to her arm. Darcy was still asleep, and she studied his face, thinking that it was a very fine face. His features were strong and straight, and his lips were framed by the growth of his beard. Even with the beard, in sleep, he looked young, and she could imagine what he had looked like as a young boy. The innocence of the child he had been was still written upon his face as he slept. It seemed impossibly intimate that she could be seeing him thus, as if she was seeing his innermost self.

Darcy's eyes fluttered open.

She flushed, realizing that he had woken up to see her staring at him.

But a smile split his lips. "Good morning," he said, his voice scratchy with sleep.

She smiled back. "Good morning."

His hand, which was resting on her back, moved. He trailed it over the dip of her waist and then over the curve of her hip.

She broke out in tingles, gasping.

He looked down at her lips and then into her eyes. "Miss Bennet, I…"

"Yes?" she breathed. He was going to kiss her. She knew somehow. She tilted back her head, giving him access.

His fingers crawled over her waist again, and then over her arm and shoulder. And then he was stroking her cheek, the line of her jaw.

She shut her eyes instinctively, in anticipation.

But there was nothing against her lips but his breath.

She opened her eyes.

He swallowed. "I do not wish to do anything you don't want."

She started to tell him she wanted it. But then she wasn't sure. If he kissed her, did that mean he would marry her? Did it matter if he wouldn't?

Yes, she decided. It did. Because it would be one thing if they were to get out of this, and she was ruined, and he wouldn't marry her. But it would be another thing entirely if he wouldn't marry her and he had kissed her. That might be too much to bear.

"Well," she whispered. "It is only that… well, do you even want to?"

"Oh, I want to," he rumbled. "Yes, I very much want to. I want… the things I want to do to you, Miss Bennet, they are not for a gentlewoman's ears."

Oh, what did that mean? Why did it make her heart race to hear it? "Yes, but… my lack of connections. And my looks. You can only tolerate them. I don't tempt you—"

"You tempt me. You are more tempting than the devil himself." And now he was extricating himself from her and propping himself up on one elbow to look down on her. He continued to speak quite earnestly. "I have been trying to explain this to you, Miss Bennet. When I was at the ball in Meryton, I said what I said only to get Mr. Bingley to leave off and let me be. I did not wish to dance with anyone. I don't like crowds of strangers. They badly affect my mood. And what I said was more a reflection on the state of my temper than the way you look. Because you are beautiful."

She blushed. Deeply this time.

"Do you believe me?" he said.

"I…" Her arm was now painful with pins and needles. She was compelled to shake it out. That hurt worse.

"Is your arm all right?"

"It's only from having slept on it," she said.

"Oh, perhaps it was my fault. I might have crushed it in the night. I am dreadfully sorry."

"No, it was warm. There was nothing about the way we were laying together that was unpleasant. It was…" She swallowed. "Very nice." Ouch. Her hand throbbed. She sat up and began to massage it.

"So, you did not mind it, then?" he said. "I thought it might have been trying for you. I know that you hate me. Being forced to be close to me, I thought you might have disliked that rather immensely."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, that…" She sighed. "I have been too hard on you, I fear. You are a good man, and I do like you. You are very good to me and you have nice shoulders and I like looking at your beard and…" Oh, dear, what was she saying?

He touched his face as if he had not realized he had grown a beard.

Her face was very, very hot. "I don't hate you at all anymore. Quite the opposite." She massaged her numb fingers and didn't look at him.

"Well, that's excellent news," said Mr. Darcy.

She looked up at him shyly.

He smiled back at her.

She wondered if he still wanted to kiss her. Had he in fact been about to earlier? She couldn't be sure. And she could think of no way to get back the moment before, when he could have kissed her. It didn't seem right anymore.

Her stomach growled.

"I'm hungry too," said Darcy. "We'd best get moving, I suppose."

"Yes," she said. Of course they had to get moving. She couldn't expect Mr. Darcy to stay here under this tree all morning. After all, his sister was in danger. They had no time to waste.

They didn't have possessions to gather beyond his coat and her cloak, so they were soon off, walking down the road.

When a carriage came by, which only happened twice, they hid themselves in the wood to watch it pass for fear it was Wickham. But none of the carriages that came past them were the one they had stolen the day before.

They could take hope from this that Wickham was still at the inn and had not gotten ahead of them, but they could not be certain.

After some time, they came to an estate house with a long winding drive up to the main door. Darcy was pleased, saying that soon all would be well. "We will be able to send word to your family about your whereabouts," he said. "I'm sure they are worried. And I will alert the authorities of Wickham's treachery. He will likely be locked up before the morrow. This awful interlude will soon be over."

Together, they walked up the drive. Darcy went first, head held high, shoulders squared. Elizabeth came behind him, quiet, hoping that her fears about their appearance would prove groundless and that Darcy would be right. She knew that her family must be quite concerned about her indeed.

However, if it were all over, as Mr. Darcy said, then there would be other things to be concerned about, like the matter of her having denied Mr. Darcy's marriage proposal. Surely, if he had wanted to kiss her that morning, that would mean that he also wanted to marry her.

But she didn't know. That could have been a bit of madness. They had been sleeping on the ground under a tree. Perhaps he might change his mind. And certainly, his concern would not be for Elizabeth, but for his sister's safety and for the apprehension of Wickham. That was only right. But what would she say to her family when she wrote to them? They would likely be concerned not only for her future, but for the family's. If her reputation was tarnished, it would affect them as well.

At the top of the drive, the two climbed up a set of stone steps to the front door of the estate and Darcy knocked on the door.

Several moments later, the door was opened by a footman. He didn't say anything. He looked them over, his eyes widening.

"My good man," said Mr. Darcy, "if you will please announce us to the man of the house. My name is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darc—"

"Excuse me?" said the footman, looking scandalized.

"If you could please announce us," said Mr. Darcy. "I realize it may be somewhat early for guests, but we have been through quite an ordeal, and it is of some importance that we are able to send word on to others."

The footman swallowed hard. His face was a mass of furrows. Then, slowly, his face relaxed. "Ah, I see now. This is a jest of some kind. Who has sent you? Are you come at the behest of the driver, Williams? You may tell me. I promise I shall only laugh at the good joke." He laughed then, but it sounded forced.

It was Darcy's turn to furrow his brow. "Sir, I am a gentleman."

The footman laughed again, but this time it sounded more genuine. "Yes, and I am the King of England."

"No," said Darcy. "I truly am a gentleman, and my companion is—"

"Tell Williams I was most surprised," said the footman and slammed the door in their faces.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Darcy stood at the door, sputtering. He raised his hand to knock again.

But Miss Bennet touched his arm, stilling his movement.

He turned to look at her. "I must make him understand."

"I don't think so, sir," she said quietly.

"But we are in need of assistance," said Darcy. "Certainly if I try again, I can make him see that."

"I…" She left off speaking and removed her hand.

Darcy banged on the door again.

The footman reappeared. "You're still here."

"Williams did not send us, and this is not a joke," said Darcy.

The footman started. "Well, then, if that is the case, why are you here?"

"It is as I have said. My companion and I are in need of assistance. Please announce us to the man of the house with all haste."

The footman raised his eyebrows. "You are no gentleman, sir. I have never seen a gentleman so dirty and… and _bearded_."

Darcy touched his chin. "We have been, as I said, through an ordeal, and I would appreciate—"

"You look to me like ruffians," said the footman. "If you think to gain entry to this home through such a scheme, you are gravely mistaken. Now, leave, or I shall send the dogs after you."

And again, the door was shut in their faces.

Darcy fumed.

"I think we had better go," Elizabeth said quietly.

He turned to look at her. Perhaps she was right. He was in no shape to fight off dogs. "But if we could only speak to the master here," he said. "I'm sure this could all be set right."

"He might not believe us either," Elizabeth said. "We do not look as though we are of gentle birth, you must admit."

"But…" Darcy looked down at his arms and hands, and he saw how dirty he was, how ragged his clothing had become even in the short time it had been since the ball. Surely, however, the cut of his suit bespoke his station in life. Surely the way he carried himself?

And even if not, he was owed more consideration than he had received because he was a human being. He'd never been dismissed thus in his entire life.

Dazed, he followed Elizabeth back down the drive, and they continued to walk.

"At the next house," he finally said, "surely they will be more kind to us."

Elizabeth did not say anything.

"You do not agree?" he asked her.

"I cannot say, sir," she replied.

"That man was a blackguard," said Darcy. "Threatening to set dogs on us? What kind of man would do such a thing?"

"You heard him," she said. "He thought we were trying to trick him to make it inside the house and rob them all."

"Well, if I were going to pretend to be a gentleman, I would certainly come up with a better costume," said Darcy. "It's ludicrous to believe that is true. And even so, he could have let us into the house, but simply kept an eye on us until he was sure we were trustworthy."

"Well, I'm sure the servants there were busy," said Elizabeth. "They may not have had time to watch over us."

"Are you defending this man?" said Darcy.

She didn't answer.

"How can you defend him? He is a wretch." Darcy kicked at a stone on the road, sending it skittering far into the distance.

"I'm not defending him," she said. "It is only that I did worry that we would have trouble being admitted to a house given the way that we look."

Darcy didn't say anything.

"If a pair of dirty, ragged travelers came to your door, how would you react?" said Elizabeth.

"I would treat them with human kindness," said Darcy.

"With your sister at home?" she asked pointedly. "Would you invite them in when you had no idea what their intentions might be?"

Darcy sighed. "No, I suppose you're right. I don't know why I didn't think of it that way."

"Because you're Mr. Darcy," she said. "You've always been welcomed everywhere your entire life. You have no reference for it."

He grimaced. "Maybe you're right. This is yet another time when you find me arrogant and superior, I suppose."

"No," she said. "I am not saying that at all. In fact, I had hoped I would be wrong and that they would admit us to the house. If only you still had your signet ring to prove who you were. That would make things easier."

"Yes, what are we to do?" he said. "You think it likely our reception will be the same at any house we come to?"

"I do not know," she said. "But I do know that it has been some time since we have eaten. And that I think we should see to our needs first and then try to find a way to send out letters."

"That makes sense," he said. "We do need to eat. But we are not beggars. I may not have the means to pay now for anything we are given, but that does not mean that I will not repay anyone who helps us later."

"They may not believe that, however," said Elizabeth. "Perhaps it is better if we bargain what we have."

"But what do we have?" said Darcy. "We have nothing."

#

"Hello," said Elizabeth, curtsying to the housekeeper and cook inside the warm kitchen where she and Mr. Darcy stood now. "Thank you for allowing us to come inside."

It had been some time before they came to another house. This one was not as grand as estate as the last they had come to, and there was some discussion between them about applying at the front door, but by then, they were both so very hungry and quite tired from their walking as well. Darcy said they could not afford to be chased away from this house as well, and he thought it prudent to follow Elizabeth's plan.

Elizabeth only hoped it worked. She knew that once, when she was a girl of twelve years old or so, a man had come by their house looking for work, but nothing steady. He said he would be on his way in the morning, but he was adamant he was not seeking charity. The servants of her house had taken pity on him. With the blessing of their father, he had been put to work in the stables, and for his trouble, had been given food and a place to stay.

Elizabeth could only hope that perhaps things might go similarly for herself and Mr. Darcy.

"Well, you looked like frozen rats out there," said the cook.

"Indeed," said the housekeeper. "How do you come to be on the road?"

"My, um, husband and I have had some misfortune," said Elizabeth. She had decided it was easier if she and Mr. Darcy were married. Even if they weren't of a higher class, an unmarried man and woman alone was a scandal. "We are both able-bodied, however, and can assist in any way that you and the household might need if we could beg of you some food and shelter in return."

"Oh, of course," said the housekeeper. "There's always need for some more hands. But what kind of misfortune?"

"Erm…" Elizabeth had not thought this out. "Well, you see… That is…"

"It's all right, dear," said the cook. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

And after this, there was a flurry of things happening. The cook gave them both something to eat, because she said they didn't look in any shape for work. While they were eating, the housekeeper went to speak to the butler. When she returned, it was with the gardener, who took Mr. Darcy away to help assist with moving some large stones from the riverbed. They were being loaded onto carts to repair a stone fence on the property.

Elizabeth was to stay in the kitchen, where she was put to work peeling potatoes and carrots.

This turned out to be harder than Elizabeth had imagined. She had no real firsthand experience in the kitchen. When she was a little girl, sometimes she had gone down to the kitchen to play and the cook would allow her to stay if she didn't get in the way. She would let Elizabeth stir things or even crack eggs. Simple sorts of things. Of course, she never gave Elizabeth a knife.

The problem with peeling potatoes was that half of the potato seemed to want to come off with the peel. The cook commented on the fact she was wasting food, so Elizabeth endeavored to do it better, but then she was so slow that the cook commented on that.

The cook wanted to know if Elizabeth had ever worked in a kitchen before, and Elizabeth had to admit she had not. The cook also made comments about Elizabeth's dress, which was dirty and torn, but still had the short sleeves of a ladies' evening gown. She did not look like a servant.

"Listen," said the cook. "You seem like a nice sort, but if you're involved in something illegal, like stealing from a gentleman's family, we won't be part and parcel to such things."

"I didn't steal the dress," said Elizabeth. "It is _my_ dress."

"Oh, indeed," said the cook, raising her eyebrows at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth did not think this was the best time to inquire about paper in order to write letters. She had hoped that after they had worked a bit, the servants might be more disposed to helping them out, but it seemed to be going wrong.

Instead, she did her best to peel properly and held her peace for the most part. She was able to find out their location and about how far they were from Hammishire, which was good news, as they were less than a day's journey away.

The hours passed quickly, and before Elizabeth knew it, it was dark.

#

Darcy found there was very little talk with the men who were loading carts with stone. What little there was only centered on the logistics of how their job should be done. Darcy ended up in the middle of a line of men. One man would hoist up the stones. He would then hand them to Darcy, who would haul them over to another man, who loaded them into the cart.

The work was hard, but the activity kept him busy, and the hours passed quickly. Before he knew it, darkness had settled, and he was heading back up to the main house.

One of the men Darcy had been working with told him that he and his "wife" had been given a bed in the stables, and he sent Darcy there. Elizabeth was waiting for him. She was setting out food for them on a table she had set up out of stacks of straw bales.

He had to admit that there was something nice about this, coming back from a hours of hard work to Elizabeth. She was beautiful, and he couldn't help but enjoy that.

However, he was a bit embarrassed by his appearance. He'd shed his jacket and vest while working and even rolled up his shirt sleeves. His clothes were even more dirty than they had been, and so was he. He was a sweaty mess.

He stopped short at her makeshift table to apologize. "I'm sorry I'm in such a state. I should not be so badly dressed for dinner."

She straightened and took him in, looking him over. "Oh, no, Mr. Darcy, you look…" She suddenly looked away.

Was she blushing?

Hmm… what was that about?

"I'm sorry," she said. "This was all a bad idea. I should not have suggested we do as we have done. They noticed my dress and there have been comments about the way that I pronounce my words. I don't sound like a servant." She wrung her hands. "Now, the cook has some idea that my dress is stolen, and I don't know how we'll be able to get paper to write letters."

Darcy sat down. "Perhaps we should eat first, and then think about all of that."

She bit down on her bottom lip, and then she nodded. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I am so dreadfully sorry, though, Mr. Darcy. I had not thought about all the implications. If we now try to tell them who we are, they likely won't believe us because we have asked for work."

"We have food," he said. "And a roof over our heads. That is more than what I was able to get us when I knocked at the door of the house this morning."

"Yes, that's true," said Elizabeth. "But it has cost us a day. We don't know where Wickham is, and we are no closer to stopping him."

Darcy rubbed his forehead. She was right.

"I am sorry," she said again.

He reached across the makeshift table for her hand. "Please, you've done nothing wrong in all of this, Miss Bennet." But she was right. Georgiana was in harm's way, and they could not afford to waste anymore time. There could be no more days of trading work for food. They needed a means by which to travel. How was he going to do that? She was right that it would be an uphill battle to convince anyone of their true identities now.

"Well, neither have you," she said to him. "We have been victims of Mr. Wickham, and he must not be allowed to win."

"We'll eat," said Darcy. "And after we have done so, perhaps we will be able to think more clearly, and we can plot some way to stop him."

#

Elizabeth was finding herself distracted by the appearance of Mr. Darcy. He was more unclothed than she had ever seen him, without his jacket or his vest, and with his sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. Now that he was close to her, she could smell his scent, which was stronger even than it had been last night when they had been wrapped up in each other, and it made her feel strange, feathery things inside her stomach.

Which was possibly why she kept apologizing. She felt nervous and confused by the way she was reacting to him. She knew that they were trapped out here for another night, as it wouldn't make any sense for them to go off walking now in the cold darkness.

There was even a bed of sorts out here for them in the stable. It was a straw bed, but there were blankets and it would be much better than the night they had spent outside on the ground the night before. She found herself looking forward to the idea of being close to him again, to being enclosed in his embrace again, their bodies pressed tightly against one another. The thought of it made her whole body thrum.

They ate, and they didn't speak much as they did. Partly this was because they were both hungry, and there was a great deal more food than they had seen since being abducted by Wickham. There was a stew, which contained the potatoes and the carrots that Elizabeth had peeled and diced that day and also some bread. There was even some pudding.

But Elizabeth wasn't speaking because she wasn't sure how to conduct herself. Here she was, looking forward to a night in bed with Mr. Darcy, and she didn't even have assurances from him that he would marry her.

She needed to broach the subject somehow.

But every time she even tried it, she would look up at him, and there he would be, bearded and burly, the muscles in his forearms moving as he broke the bread into pieces or dipped it in his stew, and she lost all sense.

Had he always been this handsome?

She thought so, yes. But something about this environment suited him, she thought. The backdrop of the stable and the smell of his sweat and the strength of his limbs… it spoke to her again in that same primal way that she had somehow understood things between them when they had been lying close. It felt like ancient knowledge that overwhelmed her with its power.

She… she _wanted_ Mr. Darcy.

But she didn't really know what she wanted him to do.

It was more than kissing, anyway. But kissing would be a good place to start. She had thought he wanted to kiss her that morning. Did he still wish to do so? With every passing day, she became more disheveled. Her hair was tangled and she was grimy from the road and the labor of the day.

She longed for a bath.

Mr. Darcy's dirt and grime seemed to make him more appealing somehow, but she did not think it was the case for her, especially since she was only tolerable to him. Of course, he _had_ said that he hadn't meant what he said, but could she trust such a thing? Maybe he was only saying it to be polite. Except that he _had_ seemed to want to kiss her.

Oh, she was so confused.

"Well," Mr. Darcy said finally, "I can't say my mind is any sharper now that I have a full belly. In fact, I only feel sleepy."

She was despondent. "As do I. I have no idea how I will get us paper to write letters."

"Oh, that hardly matters," he said. "Even if we could post a letter, what good would it do? I don't know that it would reach anyone in time to stop Wickham. And we certainly can't afford to stay here waiting for a reply."

"It might reach someone in time," she countered. "We must try. I will ask in the morning, right away."

"We must be off in the morning," said Darcy, sighing. "We need a better means of travel."

"Well, there is nothing we could possibly trade for a coach, sir," she said. "We have nothing of value."

"I realize," he said. He seemed despondent as well. He stood up. "We'll sleep on it, then. In the morning, perhaps one of us will have an idea."

"Perhaps," said Elizabeth, although she was certain she would not have any ideas. She hoped Mr. Darcy did.


	12. Chapter 12

**I did some math, and doing two chapters a week is going to take forever, so I'm speeding up the postings.**

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

"If you'll be good enough to give me a blanket, I shall sleep easily on the ground," Darcy said to Elizabeth. They were standing at the foot of the straw mattress that had been made up for them. Since Elizabeth had said they were married, there was no reason the servants of the household would have them sleep separately.

Darcy did not want to sleep on the ground. He very much wanted to lie next to Elizabeth as he had done the night before. But they'd had no choice then. They'd had to sleep close for warmth. He could not impose on her again, even if she had said that she did not despise him anymore.

On the one hand, he supposed her lack of hatred of him had probably removed whatever barrier had been in the way of their marriage, so there was no reason not to sleep in the bed together. She was going to be his. It wasn't strictly proper, but it was not wrong, or at least he could convince himself that it was not.

And he wanted to convince himself.

But, well, he should not make presumptions. If there was one thing that he had learned about Elizabeth, it was that she had strong opinions. He worried that she only barely had tipped the scale over to not hating him and that he could make a mistake which would tip the scale back again.

He could sleep on the ground.

"It would be proper for us to sleep separately, I suppose," Elizabeth said.

"Yes, quite, madam," he said. "So. The blanket, if you please."

"Does the propriety really matter, though?" said Elizabeth. "After all, we have already slept so closely before. To worry about such things now seems folly. And I fear that you have been working harder than me today. I think it would be cruel to deny you the comfort of the bed."

"I am quite capable of sleeping here." He gestured to the ground.

"Yes," she said. "Of course you are."

"Then that is the end of the discussion," he said. "The blanket?" He held out an arm for it.

She went over to the bed and turned down the blankets, but she did not remove one. She simply pulled them aside and then climbed in on one side.

He strode over to the other side of the bed and peered down at her. "Do you want me to take it myself, then?"

She turned down the covers on the other side, an invitation.

He swallowed. He looked down at the ground—cold and hard—and then at the bed, much softer and containing the very delectable Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He climbed into the bed and pulled up the covers.

He was lying on his back.

She was on her side, facing him.

He shut his eyes. He needed to get out of the bed and take the blanket, and do it now, because now she was close, and he was beginning to wonder if he had the self control not to touch her.

It was quiet.

He could hear her breathing.

He turned so that he was on his side as well and now they were facing each other. She looked soft and beautiful with her face burrowed into the bed. He thought about stroking her cheek.

She was staring right at him.

"Are you cold?" he murmured. His voice was hoarse.

"A little," she said. "It would be very good of you to…" Her breath caught in her throat. "To warm me up."

"Well, I can't very well let you freeze," he said. "What kind of a gentleman would I be then?"

"A frightful one," she said. She was already scooting closer to him.

He had his arms around her in moments, and it was like the night before, their bodies pressed close. She was not cold at all when they touched. In fact, she seemed to sear into his body, and he began to become frightened that the touch of her was going to drive him mad. He did not know if he would be in control of himself if he allowed this to continue.

He couldn't even understand why he was consumed with these thoughts of her or with these desires.

Georgiana was in danger. It was inconceivable that he would be thinking of anything else. He could not fathom what had gone wrong with him.

But these feelings that Elizabeth's presence stirred within him were all-consuming, and he could think of nothing else. Yes, indeed, she must be driving him at least a little mad. He was not himself.

One of her palms flattened against his chest.

He sighed at the feel of her touch there. He was alert now, every part of him woken and eager and alive. Yearning stirred within him. He wanted her.

Lord help him, he wanted to take her here in this stable.

And why shouldn't he? She would be his, and she seemed to want it as badly as him. It would all be all right once he had married her, after all.

A thought of Georgiana tried to surface. He nurtured it as best he could. _Think of saving your sister, not of deflowering this innocent woman,_ he urged himself.

It was no use. Elizabeth's hand went lower, to his stomach. She turned it slowly, dragging her fingers over his skin, and then her fingers were splayed out, pointing toward his belly button.

He was undone. He let out a gruff noise.

"You are so… firm all over," Elizabeth whispered. "Firm and warm and strong."

He groaned. "Miss Bennet…"

"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, I don't know what has come over me. Now that we are close, I simply can't…"

He moved his hand over her skin. He spanned her waist, then moved his fingers to cup the swell of her hip and then her upper leg.

She gasped.

He hooked a hand under her knee and pulled her leg up over his body. At the same moment, he turned them, pressing her back into the bed. He was on top of her now, between her thighs, and his other hand strayed to her neck. He cupped her jaw and he brought his lips down against hers.

She opened her mouth to him, moaning.

#

 _He is kissing me,_ Elizabeth thought. _And it_ _'s wonderful._

The kiss was lovely. Mr. Darcy was lovely. He was so solid and urgent and the way he was pressing into her, pinning her down beneath him, it was exciting and tingly and good.

Very good. So very, very good.

She seemed to have lost all sense of what might be proper, and she was running her fingers over his back. Sometimes, she pressed him closer. Sometimes she explored. He seemed to be made entirely of muscle. She liked touching him very much. She had an idle thought that it would be better if they weren't wearing clothes, that she'd much rather have her hands on his bare skin.

 _Shocking, Lizzy,_ she thought, and she very nearly giggled. But she didn't laugh. Mr. Darcy was still kissing her, and it would be hard to laugh through the kiss.

The kiss, the kiss…

Somehow, her lips had parted, and he'd put his tongue in her mouth. His tongue met her tongue, and they intertwined and danced, and everything was shimmers of goodness, as though she had been doused in sparkling wine. She stroked her tongue over his.

He groaned against her. He was doing something with his hips, grinding them against her body, and her skirt was hiked up, and she could feel the roughness of his trousers against the inside of her thighs, and that felt rather nice too, although she couldn't fathom why. Every part of her seemed incredibly sensitive all of the sudden. And everything felt good.

She let her hands move down his back. Lower… lower… and then she was exploring his backside, which was just as hard and muscled as the rest of him. _Exceedingly shocking, Lizzy,_ she thought.

Mr. Darcy made a noise—surprise and pleasure mingled. He kissed her harder.

She kissed back, putting her tongue in his mouth.

The kissing just kept going. Was this one kiss or many, each starting as the last ended? She didn't know, but she liked the feeling of their lips on each other, and she liked the sensation she was getting, that she was melding with him somehow, that they were connected, and that Mr. Darcy belonged here. He was meant to be pressed this close to her.

There was some other way to complete it, she thought, for them to be as close as was humanly possible, but she didn't quite know how to attain it. But that needed to happen or she might lose her mind. She needed all of Mr. Darcy and she wanted to give him all of herself.

Mr. Darcy groaned again, but this groan sounded different somehow, not as pleasant as the last.

Had she done something wrong?

He stopped kissing her. "Miss Bennet," he panted, resting his forehead against hers.

She _had_ done something wrong. What was it? She moved her hands away from his body and lay them down on the bed. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

"So am I," he said. "This is… this is not the place for this. I do not know what has come over me. When I am near you, I seem to be plagued with such inappropriate desires."

She looked around the stable. In the distance, she heard the huff of horses and just then a stray bit of straw poked up into her side. It wasn't an ideal place for anything, she supposed. "Did I displease you somehow?"

"What?" He raised his head, and then he let out a laugh. "Most definitely not. On the contrary, this is… you… Lord, I don't want to stop this."

She searched his expression. "I don't either. Kissing you is quite nice."

"Yes," he breathed, and his expression darkened.

And then he was kissing her again, and it felt even better for the the absence of their mouths against each other before. She clutched at his shoulders and tugged him close and slammed her eyes shut against the sweetness of it all.

But he pulled away again, uttering another groan. "No, you must stop me. We must stop."

"Must we?" She didn't really think she wanted to.

"I think so." He shut his eyes, taking several deep breaths. "Yes, definitely, we must. I am not taking your virtue in a horse barn on a straw bed when neither of us have bathed."

"My virtue?" She furrowed her brow. "But it was kissing. Certainly we have not…" She knew she was ruined by reputation, but she had thought herself intact.

"No, we have not," he said. "And we won't. That is, we shouldn't. I want to, and you are being rather… encouraging, but you are ignorant of what it is you are doing, and I will not be the sort of man who takes advantage of that. You have not even accepted my proposal of marriage."

"You are offering?" she said, and her heart leaped a little.

"Would I do this with you if I did not want to marry you?"

"I don't know," she said quietly.

"I would not," he said. "We must get married. After everything we have done, of course, we must."

"You…" She peered up at him. "You feel you have to marry me because you have kissed me, because you have embraced me in the night?"

"Yes," he said. "What sort of man would I be else?"

"Oh," she said. "Yes, indeed." She furrowed her brow in the darkness.

"What?" he said. "What is that expression you are making?"

"Nothing," she said. "No, you are a good man. You would wish to do the right thing."

"The truth is Miss Bennet, I do not wish to do the right thing right now. What I wish more than anything is to raise your skirts and take you now, damn all of it. And if you continue to encourage me, perhaps I shall. Perhaps I simply won't stop myself."

She swallowed. "Oh, how am I encouraging you?"

"Your… response. It is quite eager."

"Yes," she said. "I see. I shall stop that."

"Oh," he said. "Well… well, good." But he sounded disappointed.

She reached down to tug at her skirts, pull them down to put another barrier between his legs and hers. But he was on the fabric, pinning it down and blocking her movement. She struggled.

And then he rolled away and they were no longer touching.

"Miss Bennet?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Is there…? Did I say something to distress you?"

"No," she whispered. It wasn't really what he had said, it was only that she had finally understood what he had said and what was happening. And it had changed it all for her.

Elizabeth and her sisters were sometimes taken aside by her mother and her mother's sister, Aunt Philips. Then the two women would begin talking to them in vague terms about men and the way that they were and how the girls needed to guard themselves against it.

 _Men want to take women_ _'s virtue,_ her mother would would say. _You must keep yourself pure and separate from them. You may think that because a man shows interest, he has fallen for you or that he cares for you, but more likely, he simply wants to use you. He will do anything he can to ruin you._

 _It_ _'s not men's fault,_ her aunt would say. _They can_ _'t help being the way they are. They are driven to it by the devil himself. They can hardly fight the temptation. They want it from all women. Short, tall, plain, and fair. Their wanting it from you doesn't mean that you are special._

She had it wrong, she realized. This attention that Mr. Darcy was paying to her, it wasn't because he had fallen for her. It was simply because he was a man, and he could not help himself.

And she was behaving badly. It was her role as a woman to stop this insanity and rein him in. She was supposed to refuse his advances, not give in and allow him to do as he wished. Oh, it was only that it had felt so nice. And she couldn't really be blamed for the previous night, because they'd had to be so close because of the cold. But now, they had blankets.

She rolled over, putting her back to him, and pulled the covers tight under her chin. "Will this make things easier for you?"

He propped himself up behind her, peering down. "Well, yes, I suppose so, but…"

"I do apologize, sir," she said. "I was not thinking about how difficult it is for you, being a man. I shall do my best to cease any encouragement from now on."

She understood it all now. Mr. Darcy would marry her. He was an honorable man, and he had taken liberties with her, and so he would do the honorable thing. But deep down, he still thought her that tolerable woman he refused to dance with. He was driven by his baser nature to make attempts on her virtue, but that did not mean anything.

She shut her eyes tight and fought a lump that was forming in her throat. Why did this hurt so badly? Mr. Darcy was the third most odious man she had ever met. She did not care what he thought of her.

But she was lying to herself, and she knew it.

Somehow, in the midst of all of this, she was the one who had fallen for Mr. Darcy. He wasn't odious at all. In fact, she was in love with him.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Darcy was very aroused and very confused, and neither of these things made it easy for him to go to sleep. He contemplated getting out of the bed and lying on the floor. After all, Elizabeth seemed to have closed herself completely off from him. She was lying at the edge of the bed, curled away from him, and she seemed distant towards him now. But he did not move, because if she continued to lie in such a way, there seemed little danger of anything further occurring between them. Which was the way things should be, and he should not attempt to change that.

He had tried to touch her shoulder to comfort her. He had inquired what was the matter.

But she had shaken him off, saying that it was best if they did not touch. She did not wish to encourage him further, not when he was so distressed by his desire for her.

Distressed was not exactly the word he would use. But then he supposed he couldn't quite blame her for interpreting what he had said that way. He had told her she must stop him, after all. But he supposed he hadn't really meant it. He had wanted her to give him permission.

He scolded himself.

What woman would give him permission to bed her in a stable? None except one of disrepute. And Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not that. She was a gentleman's daughter and she was his fiancee. At least, he supposed she was. When it came down to it, she had not explicitly accepted his proposal, had she?

Well, but then he had not explicitly asked either, not exactly. He would rectify this, in the morning. He supposed he could try to talk to her about it now, but he did not wish to speak to her back, and he also thought that she might be asleep. He could not be sure. He would not wake her up, not after the trying day they had both had.

He still wasn't sure what it was that he had said that had made her change. But now that he thought about it, the eager way that Elizabeth had received his closeness and his caresses and his kisses, it was perhaps out of the ordinary.

Darcy's carnal experience was limited. It wasn't that he didn't find the prospect of bedding women enticing, but he found the options by which he could do so rather distasteful. He did not wish to do harm to women, and he did not wish to leave a trail of bastards all across England either. He was a firm believer in self-control.

Which made his behavior toward Elizabeth all the more confusing.

But leaving that aside for a moment, he did have some understanding that many men of his class conducted various affairs, and that these did not cease after they were married. The reasoning for that, as he understood, was that wives tended not to take much joy in the marital bed.

Darcy remembered one of his old school chums, a man named Mr. Barton, who had confided in him that his wife refused to do the act again after their wedding night. Barton was worried, concerned he would never have an heir. He was sure he had done something wrong when he had coupled with his wife, but he was unsure as to what it might have been, and he could not get her to talk to him about it, because she felt it was all too indelicate.

Darcy smiled to himself, thinking that he was not going to be nearly as unlucky as those men. He was going to marry Elizabeth, who sighed and squirmed against him and welcomed—

Except she had stopped welcoming anything from him.

What had happened?

And then it became clear to him. He had said it before. She was ignorant of what was happening. Her demeanor had changed when he had brought up her virtue. She had not understood that was where things were heading. She didn't know about such things. _They are indelicate,_ he thought grimly.

Once she understood, she reacted the way wives—or prospective wives anyway—reacted to such things.

Except…

Well, that didn't quite make sense. If she didn't know what it was, and she had been enjoying it beforehand, why did the simple explanation of the act make her turn cold? Were women _taught_ to dislike it? Why would they?

Thoughtfully, he rolled onto his side, his back to her. Well, he supposed that it could be trying for a woman to be always with child. Children were a blessing, but bearing them was dangerous. Women did sometimes die in childbirth.

The thought sent a shiver of horror through him. He had not even considered…

But he would not _let_ Elizabeth die. When she was with child, he would make sure she was safe. He would engage the best midwives and accoucheurs and doctors. He would take care of her.

And there were ways, once they had a few children, to prevent pregnancy from taking place. Darcy knew of them. He would tell her that. Perhaps she might be reassured by that?

 _Yes, Fitz, you_ _'ll tell her all that. You can't even wake her up and ask her to marry you. You're frightfully afraid of talking to her,_ he said to himself.

He grimaced in the darkness.

 _I shouldn_ _'t even be thinking about this,_ he thought. _What about Georgiana? What about Wickham? I must save my sister. What has happened to me that has stolen my wits and made me so preoccupied with Elizabeth Bennet?_

It was the way she smiled. Or possibly the way her eyes flashed when she was angry. Or maybe the noises she made when his hands were on her.

 _Stop thinking about any of that,_ he ordered himself.

But it was still a long time before he went to sleep.

However, when he woke, he had an idea.

#

"I'm sorry, why will you be sending payment to this estate?" Elizabeth was barely awake. It was still dark outside. Was it morning? She rubbed at her eyes and tried to concentrate on what Darcy was saying, but he was talking very quickly. He was excited.

"For the horses, obviously," he said.

"What horses?"

"The horses in this stable," he said. "We can take them and ride to Hammishire to intercept Wickham."

"You want to steal horses?"

"Not steal them. I've just been explaining. I will pay for them as soon as I am back home. I'll send them triple the amount the horses are worth," he said. "But we simply cannot wait any longer. We need to go now."

Elizabeth thought this through. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was the only way. She nodded slowly. "All right. Yes, I think it is the best idea we've had."

"We'll need to take food too," said Darcy. "Do you think that you can get into the kitchens and take something before anyone else wakes up?"

She bit down on her lip. "You want me to steal food?"

"We need sustenance, and I will repay them. I will saddle the horses. You find food."

She rubbed her forehead. "I will do my best."

Darcy leapt out of the bed and hurried away from her.

It took her a bit longer to get moving. But then she had the thought that perhaps the kitchen staff would already be awake. It was dark, but she could not be sure of the time. Dawn might be near, and she knew that the servants woke early and began to work.

She was lucky that there was no one in the kitchen when she arrived.

She didn't take much. She took some bread and cheese and ale, and she hurried back to the stables before she could be discovered.

Darcy was in the process of saddling the second horse. "Listen," he said. "I thought about it, and perhaps you don't wish to come with me. Perhaps you would rather set off for Hertfordshire and your family."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" She was worried. She had been sure that he would do the honorable thing and marry her, but perhaps he was looking for a way out.

"Not at all," he said. "I only thought that I should suggest it. You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to."

"I hardly think I would be safer on my own."

He shot her an alarmed look. "I did not think of that. Of course you must stay with me. Forget that I said anything different."

She stepped forward. "This is a standard saddle?"

"They had no side saddles," he said, working at the straps of the other horse's saddle. "I apologize. You'll be all right astride, though, I promise. You won't be damaged in any way."

She touched the horse. "You say your mother rode astride?"

"Yes," he said. "Not always, but if we were going on a serious ride through the countryside, yes. She said she could not keep up else, and she dearly loved to ride."

The horse turned to Elizabeth and nuzzled her hand, as if looking for a treat.

She patted him. "I'm sorry, I have brought nothing for you, Sir Horse."

"I would not do anything to harm you, Elizabeth, I promise," he said. "You trust me, do you not? If I thought it would make it difficult for you to bear children, I would not allow it. They would be my children, after all."

Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up at him.

He was looking down at his boots. "That is… dash it all, I don't suppose this has been properly done. And perhaps now is not the time. But I do intend to propose to you, I really do. Do you intend to accept?" He raised his gaze to hers.

She flushed. "I… well, yes, I do."

"Good," he said, returning to the saddle, tightening and adjusting. "We have many things to speak of, but we will do that when we have the time."

"I am… that is, we have little choice in the matter, and I'm sorry if…"

He raised his eyebrows. "You mean _you_ have little choice."

"No, I know that you are not the sort of man who would not do right by me, especially after… everything."

"Miss Bennet, truly, we do not have time to speak of these things," he said. "We will talk later, though, once we have caught up to Wickham and settled all this business. Allow me to assist you onto your horse."

"Oh, indeed," she said. "I have no real idea how I should do such a thing."

"Here," he said. "Take hold of the pommel. I will boost you up. You'll need to swing your leg up and around the horse."

"I couldn't possibly," she said, trying to picture it. The feat seemed Herculean.

"Try it," he said.

She took hold of the pommel and tried to pull herself up. And then Mr. Darcy was behind her, lifting her at the waist and hoisting her up into the saddle, and he was so frightfully strong that it took her breath away. And in a moment, she was seated on the horse, the saddle between her legs, and her skirts flaring around her.

It felt… strange.

She wished that she was in possession of a pair of drawers, but her mother thought them silly and had said that it was a waste of fabric to have them made. After all, her mother had never needed to wear drawers. And her mother thought they might be a bit of a smirch on a woman's modesty. The drawers went between the woman's legs, after all.

Like the horse was doing.

"I understand," she said suddenly. "What you were saying before, about men not wanting horses between women's thighs. This is rather abominable."

Darcy looked her over, not understanding.

Well, likely he knew nothing about women's undergarments.

Flushing even more intensely, she said, "If you will excuse me," and then she began to attempt to tuck her skirts around her legs, trying to get some sort of barrier between the saddle and her skin.

Mr. Darcy coughed and then looked away.

"When your mother did this," said Elizabeth, "did she wear something under her skirt?"

"I really wouldn't know," said Darcy, climbing up on his horse. "Are you going to be all right?"

But she didn't have a chance to answer, because the door to the stables opened up and there were two stable hands.

At the sight of them, one bellowed, "Thieves!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Four very short chapters today. Lots of action!**

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Darcy swore under his breath. He turned to Elizabeth. "Let's go," he said, nudging his horse with his foot.

The horse took off at a gentle canter.

Darcy waited to see if Elizabeth was coming—she was—before digging his foot in and getting the horse to gallop more quickly.

Elizabeth came right behind him.

The stable hands dove out of the way as they hurried through the door of the stable and into the darkness of the early morning. In the distance, the sky was turning gray with dawn.

Darcy looked over his shoulder, making sure that Elizabeth was coming.

She was behind him, but there was a pinched look on her face.

He was concerned. She had said that the standard saddle was abominable. What if he was wrong? What if she was going to be harmed by riding astride? Perhaps the women of his family were unique in some way?

And as if that weren't bad enough, he heard the crack of a gunshot in the distance.

He slowed his horse, hanging back.

Elizabeth looked alarmed. "What are you doing?" she yelled.

He could barely hear her. The wind was whipping past them because they were going so fast. "Go ahead!" he screamed at her.

Another shot.

He maneuvered his horse until he was in between Elizabeth and the shots.

She was bent down over the horse, her skirts flying out behind her as she rode. The bending down was good.

He followed suit.

A loud crack. More shots were coming after them.

He yelled over his shoulder, "I will repay you for the horses. Tell your master to look for it. You can trust the word of the Darcys of Pemberley. I swear it to you!"

#

"We have to stop!" Elizabeth cried.

She did not know how long they had been galloping, but they had left the estate behind some time ago, and had kept going as fast for what felt like an agonizing eternity.

The saddle was rubbing at the sensitive skin inside her legs, and she was in pain. She had borne it as long as she could stand it, but it was too much for her now, and she could not continue. She tugged on the reins of her horse and slowed it to a walk, then a stop.

Darcy stopped as well. "What?" he said. "What's happened?" He looked worried.

"I… the saddle…"

"Yes?" He swallowed.

"There is nothing between the saddle and my skin," she whispered furiously, and she was blushing again. "It is exceedingly painful, the rub of the saddle. Even if I were riding side saddle, I would normally have a habit with a thicker skirt."

He reddened. "I had not thought that…"

"Well, I don't suppose you have much experience with what a woman wears under her clothes," said Elizabeth.

"Or what you _don_ _'t_ wear," he muttered.

And then they were quiet.

"Listen," she said finally, "perhaps we can find an inn or something, and you can leave me behind and continue on after Wickham."

He shook his head. "I cannot leave you alone with no one, Miss Bennet. Not to mention the fact that we have no money for an inn."

Oh, dear, he was right.

He rubbed his forehead. "Perhaps your cloak."

"Oh," she said, nodding. "Yes, that might work. If it could be spread over the saddle to give some sort of barrier."

"Then you'll freeze," he said, shaking his head.

"No, it will be better to be cold than—"

"We could walk," he said. "Perhaps we should just walk."

"No, we don't have time. We must go after Wickham."

"But if you are being injured and it is too much for you—"

"My skin will heal," she said. "But if your sister is tied to Wickham for a lifetime, then…" She shook her head.

"I'll give you my coat," he said.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"Of course I do," he said. He dismounted from his horse and came over to help her down.

On the ground, she gingerly touched her inner thighs.

"Is it quite bad?" he said. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Miss Bennet."

It hurt, but she gave him a smile anyway. Riding a horse was a bit of a painful enterprise under the best of circumstances. She knew that often after a day on horseback, she would be sore and stiff anyway. She would expect this day of hard riding to be tough on her body. But she could handle it. They were finally in a position to end this. They could stop Wickham.

She unclasped her cloak and began to try to fold it in half.

"Here," said Mr. Darcy. "Let me try to arrange it for you."

She handed it over and then she shivered.

"Oh," said Mr. Darcy, shrugging out of his coat to give it to her.

She busied herself putting on Mr. Darcy's coat while he arranged the cloak. His coat smelled like him and she loved it. She thought she could stand with being wrapped up in Darcy's smell forever. If only all that was between them hadn't arisen from obligation. If only he felt about her the way that she had grown to feel about him.

"All right," said Mr. Darcy. "Would you like to try the saddle now?"

"Yes," she said, reaching for the pommel.

Suddenly, a dirty man emerged from the woods, holding out a knife.

Darcy turned, alarmed.

More men were coming behind the other man, four in all. They were all armed.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

When Elizabeth saw the knives, she let out a little cry in spite of herself.

Her horse, startled, kicked up its hooves and galloped away, her cloak fluttering off in its wake.

"Not the horse!" cried one of the knife-wielding men.

And all of that scared Darcy's horse, who went after Elizabeth's horse, letting out a high-pitched whinny.

"Smith, after the horses," growled one of the men.

Another man peeled off, running after the horses, who had both disappeared into the woods beside the road.

The remaining three men encircled Darcy and Elizabeth.

"Are you trying to rob us?" Darcy said in a low voice. "You'll find we have nothing to steal."

"Besides those damned horses, you mean?" said the first man, who seemed to be in charge. "We'll get those back, don't worry."

"Fine," muttered Darcy. "Then let us go. You have the horses."

"And just take your word for it that there's nothing else?" said the man. "Turn out your pockets."

Darcy glared at the man.

The man gestured to one of the other thieves. "Stone, search his pockets."

Stone advanced on Darcy.

Darcy clenched his hands into fists. "I have nothing. Leave us alone."

Stone kept coming.

Darcy struck the other man, hitting him across the cheek.

At once, the other thieves moved. The man in charge leaped forward to take hold of Elizabeth, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

The final thief seized Darcy, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pinning his arms to his side.

Stone put his knife to Darcy's throat. "No more of that," he said to Darcy.

Darcy struggled.

Stone and the other thief searched his pockets.

The thief in charge let his hands roam all over Elizabeth. "No purse, then, my lovely?" he said in her ear. "No jewelry?"

"Get your hands off her," said Darcy, pulling one of his arms free from the thieves who held him and driving his fist into Stone's nose, the way he had punched Wickham before.

Stone backed up, howling. He dropped his knife.

Darcy rushed forward for the weapon.

But the other thief was behind him, and he slammed into Darcy, sending Darcy sprawling onto the ground, inches from the knife.

"Thorn," said the thief who held Elizabeth. "Kill him. He's not worth the trouble."


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"No!" said Elizabeth, and she started to struggle in earnest. She drove her elbow back into the midsection of the thief who held her.

He swore, and his grip on her loosened.

She stomped on his toe.

He cried out, dropping her entirely.

She dove over the ground for the discarded knife. Aha! She had it in her hands, even though she was face down against the ground. She rolled over onto her back.

Meanwhile, Thorn had pulled Darcy's head back by the hair, and had his knife at Darcy's throat.

"Stop!" said Elizabeth, getting to her feet, holding out the knife.

The thief in charge came for her, roaring.

She slashed blindly with her knife.

Somehow, she connected, opening up a red line across the man's cheek. He shrieked and backed up, hand to his face.

Darcy slammed his head backwards into the man who held him.

There was a crunch, and that man's nose was bleeding too.

Elizabeth marched over to the thief in charge and put the knife she had to his neck. "Tell them to stop," she said, breathless.

"You wouldn't stab me, would you, little lady?" said the thief.

"To protect myself and my companion, I would do whatever I had to," she said, and she knew it was true.

Thorn let go of Darcy to clutch his wound. With his other hand, he still held out his knife.

Stone, unarmed and holding his bleeding nose, staggered off into the woods. "I can't bear more of this!" he bellowed, thrashing through the underbrush.

"Tell Thorn to drop his knife," Elizabeth said to the thief in charge.

Thorn backed away from Darcy. "They know our names?"

"You shouldn't have been so stupid as to yell them out," said Darcy, smiling grimly. He advanced on Thorn.

Thorn backed up, but not fast enough.

Darcy had Thorn's wrist in one hand. He squeezed.

Thorn dropped the knife. "Please," he said.

"Go," said Darcy, pushing the man backward.

Thorn stumbled off into the woods after Stone.

Darcy snatched up Thorn's discarded knife.

Elizabeth turned back to the thief in charge. "Seems the rest of your men have gone."

"Seems so," said the thief. "It's hard to find good help these days."

"Best go after them," said Darcy, advancing with his newfound weapon.

The thief regarded them coolly for several moments, but then he nodded and he backed away from the knife, off into the woods.

Elizabeth held out her knife for several moments after he had disappeared from view, and then she let her arm drop.

"Give me that," said Darcy.

She handed it over. She was starting to shake.

"Are you all right?" said Darcy.

She nodded. "I think so, yes. Are you?"

"Of course," he said. "You were uncommonly brave."

"So were you," she said.

"You held that man off with a knife."

"I did, didn't I?" She gasped, putting her fingers to her lips.

"Thank you," said Mr. Darcy. "I couldn't have done it without you." He tucked both of the knives away in his belt and then he embraced her.

She clung to him, frightened that she might start crying. At least if she did, it would be after the thieves had gone, which was better, she decided.

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "Lord, Miss Bennet, I've never met a woman like you. Anyone else would have gone to pieces."

"I _am_ going to pieces," she said. "Is it not obvious?"

He chuckled.

"I thought they were going to kill you," she said. "I couldn't let that happen."

"I wouldn't have let them," he said. "I have no intention of dying anytime soon."

Now, she was laughing. "Well, that's all very well and good, but that doesn't mean that you won't die, you know?"

He kissed her.

She wasn't expecting it. She nearly lost her balance.

But he was holding her and she sagged into him, and the kiss was like a storm churning in her belly, overtaking her with a whipping wind and powerful, driving rain. She felt it sweep her away.

And then there was a noise behind them and they both broke away.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Darcy fumbled to get one of the knives from where he'd put it in his belt. He was shaky now. It was probably nothing but an animal or somethi—

It was the fourth thief, the one who'd gone after the horses. Smith, they'd called him.

Smith was leading both of the horses by their bridles.

Darcy's heart leapt. He had thought the horses gone. He'd been grateful that they'd escaped the thieves unharmed, and he'd been content with that, even though their situation was now dire. But now, the horses were back.

And Darcy wasn't going to let Smith have them. He ran forward, knife out, teeth bared, yelling out some kind of guttural cry he hadn't even been aware he was capable of making.

Smith let go of the horse's bridles in surprise.

"Elizabeth!" Darcy cried. "Catch the horses."

But she was right behind him, already there, seizing both of the bridles. She soothed the horses in a low voice.

And Darcy tackled Smith, knocking the man to the ground. On top of Smith, Darcy held his knife under the man's chin.

"Stop, stop," said Smith. "You have the horses. Let's not do anything hasty."

Darcy regarded him. "If I let you go, can I trust that you will not try anything else?"

"Yes, yes," said Smith.

"Wait," said Elizabeth.

"What?" he said.

"Tell him to take off his clothes."

"What?" said Darcy. Had she lost her mind?

"I can't ride in this stupid dress," she said. "I need his trousers."

Darcy blinked. His first thought was to protest that his future wife would not wear trousers. His second thought was to picture Elizabeth's shapely legs in trousers. He rather liked the picture. He cleared his throat and turned back to Smith. "Your clothes."

#

Darcy held the horses while Elizabeth changed in the woods. He didn't like letting her out of his sight, not when the thieves might be about, but he knew it wouldn't be proper to watch her change her clothes, even though he rather desperately wanted to.

He didn't think he'd ever desired anything like he desired her. She was like no other woman he'd ever encountered. She was smart and brave and ready to try anything, and she was beautiful besides. And to think that he had tried to stay clear of her when he first met her, judging her beneath him. What a colossal idiot he had been. She was a treasure. He may have gotten her by chance, forced into marriage with her by circumstance, but she was still his, and he wasn't going to let her go.

Elizabeth emerged from the woods in the thief's clothes, which were too big for her. Still, it was a shock to see her legs, both of them separate that way. He couldn't help but stare.

She pulled at the trousers, wrinkling up her nose. "It feels strange."

He coughed, forcing himself to look at her face. She had plaited her hair and was tucking it up under the cap the thief had worn. "Your hair," he murmured.

"I thought it best if I could pass for a boy as long as no one was looking too closely," she said.

"Oh, that is smart," said Darcy. She was truly an amazing creature. "Well, shall I help you back onto the horse?"

"Please," she said.

He had to touch her to help her onto the horse, and he couldn't say he minded doing that. Once she was astride, he stared at her legs a bit longer than he ought to. He also noticed that she had cinched the trousers tight around her waist, and he had not really seen her waist before. The style of gowns these day was to gather higher. Her waist seemed impossibly small and delicate. She was so, so beautiful, even dressed this way. Or perhaps he was simply becoming besotted.

He supposed it was no obstacle if he was. She had said this morning that she intended to marry him.

Of course, there was the matter of the way she had turned away from him the night before. And directly after saying she would marry him, she had made some comment about not having a choice in the matter.

He went to his own horse and mounted, a sour feeling contaminating everything. Perhaps, after all of it, she really didn't like him.

But she had said that he was a good man. And she had kissed him. She couldn't have kissed that way if she hated him, could she?

He was being driven mad by all these thoughts. Best if he banished them from his mind.

There was Wickham to think of, after all.

He cast his gaze up at the sky, gauging the position of the sun. If they rode hard, they could be to Hammishire by evening.

#

They rode for hours.

Darcy inquired about Elizabeth's comfort several times, and she assured him that she was much better now, that the trousers were far better for traveling than her thin skirt had been.

The closer they came to Hammishire, the more Darcy's thoughts did turn to Wickham. Would they be too late? It was possible that Wickham had already carried out the deed, and if so, Darcy did not know what he would do. He could hardly imagine allowing Georgiana to remain married to the villain, but his hands might be tied.

Georgiana's happiness was the most important thing, of course. But he could not see how Georgiana could be made happy by that man. He would take her money and use her badly. No, Darcy would not allow the marriage to stand, no matter what had occurred.

He shuddered to think of the worst, that the marriage was consummated. Wickham was a brute. He would have hurt his sister. And if Georgiana was carrying Wickham's child, it was calamity.

That was the worst possible outcome, Darcy thought. And even if it were so bad, he still would have Wickham clapped in irons, and he would take his sister away from everything. If society shunned his whole family, he would not care. He did not need society. What he needed was Georgiana safe and out of the clutches of that man.

Of course, he wasn't sure what that might mean for Elizabeth. If he were to do such a thing, maybe it would change her options. She could either be ruined or take the Darcy name, and if that name had been tarnished, and if she truly did not care for him, then maybe she would not wish to marry him. The thought was like a long, thin dagger into his heart. He didn't want to lose her. He would _not_ lose her.

So, as he rode, nothing was resolved. He had no clear notion of the future. He would have to see what had happened and weigh his options then.

And Elizabeth…

Well, one thing he had learned about Elizabeth was that she was fierce, and she could not be forced into anything she didn't desire. If Elizabeth did not want him, he would have to let her go. That much was clear.

When they rode into Hammishire, it was late afternoon. They were tired and thirsty and hungry, having had nothing since that morning. From the letter that Darcy had been forced to write to Georgiana, he knew that she would be staying in a local inn, and he and Elizabeth went there straightaway.

Leaving the horses outside, Darcy and Elizabeth burst into the inn.

The door opened onto a tavern, onto a few tables full of travelers drinking ale.

A woman with a bonnet askew, carrying several glasses of ale, called out to them that she would be with them in a moment.

Darcy wound through the tavern, Elizabeth at his heels, and took the woman by the arm.

Ale spilled out onto the floor.

"Excuse me, sir," said the woman, indignant.

"A Miss Darcy," said Mr. Darcy. "She is staying here at this inn. I need to know which is her room."

"Sir, unhand me," said the woman. "Who are you, dirty looking vagabonds asking after a fine lady like Miss Darcy?"

Darcy sighed, annoyed. So, this was to be the battle, then. He did not look like himself and he could not prove his identity. Well, he wasn't going to lie. "I'm her brother."

The woman scoffed. "Oh, you don't expect me to swallow that."

"I expect," said Darcy, "that you tell me where my sister is this instant."

"Well, I won't," said the woman. She turned over her shoulder. "Mr. Tanner! I have need of you," she bellowed. She turned back to Darcy. "When my husband gets here, he'll—"

But Darcy didn't bother to hear the rest of the threat. He let go of the woman's arm and stalked away from her, going deeper into the inn. Elizabeth was right behind him

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded the woman.

Darcy ignored her. He hurried back the first hallway he came to and began flinging open every door he came upon.

The first room was empty of people. Its fireplace was dead and its bed made up.

The second room elicited a scream from a portly woman only in her stays. Her maid was behind her, helping to lace them. Darcy slammed that door shut.

By the time he reached the third door, the woman was yelling after him. "Stop it. You won't find Miss Darcy. She's not here! She's gone to the church. Her fiance had a special license."


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Darcy's heart leapt into his throat. It was an odd time for a wedding, but a special license—which he'd paid for at Wickham's insistence—afforded a couple the right to marry at any time of day, anywhere they pleased.

Were they too late?

He didn't care. The only important thing was to get to Georgiana and separate her from Wickham immediately.

He and Elizabeth rushed out of the inn.

The church sat at the end of the street, its doors shut up against the world, looking stone and proper and respectable. How awful that Wickham had made a mockery of everything it stood for.

He set off for the church, his fists clenched, his jaw set.

Elizabeth hurried in front of him, sprinting. "We must make haste, sir," she threw over her shoulder. "We may be too late."

He was gratified by her enthusiasm, and he stretched his legs to match her stride. They rushed down the street to the front of the church, ran up the steps, and threw open the door.

A droning voice greeted them. "…that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant—"

"Stop the ceremony!" cried Darcy.

The church was empty save for the parson and for Wickham, Georgiana, Georgiana's governess, Miss Haversham, who turned to see him with wide, ashamed eyes, and another man, probably Wickham's witness.

The parson harrumphed. "Now, what is the meaning of this?"

Darcy strode up the center aisle to front of the church. "This wedding is a sham. My sister is not of an age to consent, and any consent made on my part was given under duress. Furthermore, this man is a wretch." He pointed at Wickham. "He must be clapped in irons and taken away to rot in a cell."

Wickham raised his eyebrows politely. "Excuse me, who are you? Kindly remove yourself from these proceedings or I shall have you removed." He turned to the parson. "I haven't the foggiest idea what is going on."

The parson turned to Elizabeth and Darcy. "Begone from this place at once! You are not invited, and your appearance shames the ceremony upon which you intrude."

 _So much for charity from the local church,_ Darcy thought wryly.

"Mr. Wickham," spoke up Miss Haversham. "You must recognize this man. Why—"

"No, I have never seen him before in my life," said Mr. Wickham. "And furthermore, if he wishes to stop the ceremony, he is too late. Vows have been exchanged. We are married now in the sight of God and—"

"Whatever you've done hardly matters," said Darcy. "It was not lawful the way it was gone about. It can all be abolished." He didn't know if this was true, but he thought it likely.

Wickham squared his shoulders and addressed the parson. "I don't know why we are allowing this awful, dirty man to continue to speak. He is ruining my wedding and upsetting my bride."

Darcy tried to catch Georgiana's eye, but his sister seemed to be pointedly not looking at him.

"Miss Darcy," spoke up Elizabeth. "You know this man. Tell them all who he is and let's be done with this business."

"No, no," said Mr. Wickham. He reached forward and touched Georgiana under the chin, lifting her face. It was a tender gesture.

It made Darcy's blood boil. He wanted to leap up there and begin tearing Wickham apart. He didn't, only because he did not want to do so in front of his sister. Georgiana had a delicate temperament, and she was likely so out of sorts with everything that had happened that Darcy didn't want to add to her distress.

"Georgie," murmured Wickham, smiling at Georgiana gently. "This man wants to stop the wedding. He wants to separate us. You can see that, can't you?"

Georgie? How dare he give her a nickname, as if there was intimacy between them. Darcy hated Wickham even more.

Georgiana nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "I do see that, Georgie."

Darcy grimaced. Oh, what manner of horridness was this? They called each other by the _same_ nickname? Their first names _were_ similar, but that… that made his stomach turn.

"So, we must get rid of him," said Wickham. "Tell everyone that you don't know who he is, and then you and I will be off, and it will be as I have promised between us."

Georgiana turned to look at Darcy, her eyes wide.

"Oh, Georgiana for God's sake," said Darcy. "You can't deny your own brother. You know who I am. Don't listen to Wickham. He lies. He lies about everything."

Georgiana cleared her throat. Her voice quavered. "Well, you don't look much like my brother, sir. My brother does not have a beard."

"Hang it all, Georgiana!" Darcy started toward her.

Wickham stepped between them. "Stay back from my bride, rapscallion."

"Miss Darcy," said Elizabeth, "Mr. Wickham may seem charming. I have seen it myself. But underneath it all, he is a snake. He kept your brother and I captive and refused to feed us. He threatened us with a pistol. He is altogether horrid and he is only trying to use you. Please, do not fall victim to his lies."

"Oh, that is quite enough," said Wickham. "I don't know who this… person is either." He gestured to Elizabeth. "Man or woman, I cannot even tell. Certainly, I don't have to stand by and listen to my good name besmirched by these awful strangers. Georgie, tell them to leave."

Georgiana looked to Wickham. And then she looked to Darcy. She swallowed.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Georgiana looked to the parson. "I… I am very confused. You see, I received a letter from my brother, written in his hand, telling me to come here—"

"Wickham forced me to write it by putting a pistol to Miss Bennet's head," snapped Darcy. He could not believe that his sister was debating this.

"Th-that is my brother," said Georgiana, pointing to Darcy. "I recognize his voice, and I can see it is him, even under all the whiskers and grime. But I don't understand…" She turned to look at Wickham. "My Georgie would never do such horrible things."

"Of course I wouldn't, dove," said Wickham, reaching out to pat her hand. "Perhaps you are mistaken. That's not your brother. He is trying to destroy everything."

"I…" Georgiana folded her arms over her chest. "Well, we must be able to work this out in some way." She looked to Darcy. "Fitz, please allow us to finish the ceremony, and then you may talk to my husband and I—"

"There is no more ceremony, and he is _not_ your husband," said Darcy. And now he did approach his sister. He took her by the arm and tugged on her.

Surprised, she allowed herself to be led away from Wickham.

Wickham was shaking his head. "Damn it all to hell, Georgiana, why could you not—"

"I'll thank you not to swear in front of my sister," said Darcy.

Wickham's nostrils flared. "The vows were exchanged, Darcy. She is my wife."

"No," said Darcy. "She is not." He gave another tug on Georgiana's arm.

"Ow," she said. "You're hurting me, Fitzwilliam. And you're getting my sleeve dirty."

"Never mind your sleeve," said Darcy. "Come with me now."

"But I don't want to," she said. "I want to stay with my husband." She looked over her shoulder at Wickham. "Georgie, do something."

Wickham started down the aisle after them. He stopped in front of Georgiana. And then he seized her chin and kissed her, his tongue inside Darcy's sister's mouth.

At which point, Darcy punched Wickham.

"Fitzwilliam!" protested Georgiana.

"There," said Wickham, holding his chin. "You see, I cannot abide such violence. Such abuse. I must go somewhere safe and think this through. But do not despair, my dove. I will find a way. Love finds a way." And then he dashed past them all and out of the church door.

Georgiana stared after him, horrified. Then she burst into tears.

#

Elizabeth hung back while they went back to the inn to allow Darcy and his sister time to speak to each other. But strangely enough, Darcy didn't say anything. Instead he glowered, and Georgiana cried.

Elizabeth was put in mind of her younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty in particular, who were about Georgiana's age. Lydia had once cried herself sick over a bonnet that she wanted and was not allowed to purchase. If Elizabeth hadn't known the source of her sister's sobs, she would have thought Lydia had been set upon by thieves or that someone dear to her had died. She was heartbroken.

Georgiana was crying in this same manner as she told the woman who ran the inn that Darcy was her brother.

Elizabeth thought the woman would disbelieve all of it, but for some reason, she didn't. Maybe she knew the ways of girls of sixteen? Whatever the case, Darcy was able to establish credit and secure paper and ink for letters to be written. He also ordered tubs to be brought to their rooms and filled with water so that they could wash.

Elizabeth was put into the room with Georgiana, and she expected that Darcy would now take his sister aside and speak to her privately. But he didn't. He shut her in the room with Elizabeth and left.

Georgiana flung herself down on the bed and continued to weep.

Elizabeth tried to console her the way that she might one of her sisters. She sat down next to her and stroked Georgiana's hair and whispered softly that it would not last forever and it was all right to stop crying. She had discovered that, when it came to these fits, it was best not to advise that her sisters were crying over nothing or even to suggest that things might be all right. Both suggestions only caused the girls to cry more intensely and to protest that the world was ending.

However, Georgiana was not soothed. "I don't know you, and you're dirty, and you're dressed like a man. Please leave me alone."

So, Elizabeth did.

A servant brought in the tub and some water and Miss Haversham hovered in the doorway, babbling as the tub was filled.

"I don't know what Mr. Darcy must think of me," said Miss Haversham. "I thought it odd to receive such a letter, but there it was in his own handwriting, and I couldn't think otherwise than to obey what it said. And then we arrived, and it was that Mr. Wickham, which Mr. Darcy had warned me of. And I spoke to Miss Darcy about it. Miss Darcy, did I not speak to you?"

Georgiana did not answer. She only sobbed.

"Mr. Darcy is going to let me go," said Miss Haversham, wringing her hands. "And without a reference, I warrant. But how was I to know? Tell me, how was I to know?"

Elizabeth didn't know what to say to the woman.

"I don't know what I could have done. Miss Darcy was so set on it all. She says that Mr. Wickham is misunderstood. She says she loves him and he loves her, and… oh, was I to have denied it? Was I to have tied her down and forced her to stay in Pemberley? Tell me, what should I have done?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Miss Haversham, perhaps you should wait a bit of time and then speak to Mr. Darcy yourself. After he's had a chance to bathe and dress, I think, though. And to speak to his sister, which I am sure he wishes to do."

At this, Georgiana lifted her head. "No!"

"No?" said Elizabeth.

"He never speaks to me. He simply sends me off from place to place. And when I am there, all he wants is for me to stay quiet and play the piano and sing so that he can show off his shy and pretty sister. But when do I get to be happy, hmm?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Um…. Listen, I know that your brother loves you. We have both traveled far and wide and through many dangers to reach you and save you from this dreadful scheme of Mr. Wickham's."

"No," said Georgiana, sitting up. "It's not about me. It's about Georgie."

"Er, you mean, Mr. Wickham?"

"Yes, my _husband_ ," said Georgiana.

"No, you see, he is not that," said Elizabeth. "You may think that you know Mr. Wickham. I did too. When I met him, he was the most charming and likable fellow I think I'd ever laid eyes on. I was quite taken in by him. If I had not seen this other side of him, I would not have believed it about him either. But now I know the real Mr. Wickham."

"You do not," said Georgiana. " _I_ know him. When my father was alive, Georgie was with us for all the holidays and for dinner every Sunday. He was like my second brother. I know him. You do not. And trust me when I say that Fitzwilliam has always hated Georgie."

Elizabeth clasped her hands together in front of her. "I think you are only seeing it from one point of view, Miss Darcy."

"No." Georgiana was sitting ramrod straight now, and she was gesturing animatedly while she spoke. "Father loved Georgie. Loved him more than Fitz, and everyone knew it, even Fitz, and that made him crazy. He hated Georgie, and he was never good to him—"

"This is the story that Mr. Wickham tells," said Elizabeth said softly. "He has told it to you, and—"

"I saw it! I was there!"

"You are ten years younger than your brother. How old were you when you witnessed your father's favoritism? Can you be sure your interpretation of your memories has not been molded by Mr. Wickham's explanation of them? He is very good at that sort of thing."

Georgiana glowered. "I know what I saw. Listen, Georgie and I did not intend to fall in love. It simply happened. If Father were alive, he would consent to our union, I am sure of it."

"I doubt it," said Elizabeth. "His only daughter married to the son of his steward? I don't think that's what your father would have wanted for you."

"You never met my father. You don't know," said Georgiana.

"That is true," said Elizabeth carefully. "I… I am sorry that this is all so difficult for you, Miss Darcy. But I assure you that you are better off safe from Mr. Wickham. He is a horrible man."

"He is my husband," said Georgiana. "And I'll thank you not to say awful things about him. Also, from now on, please address me as Mrs. Wickham."

Elizabeth sighed.

She was glad when the bath was ready, and she could sink into it and get clean. The hot water was lovely after the days on the road. While she was washing, neither Georgiana nor Miss Haversham bothered her.

Since she was washing in a room with so many, Elizabeth should have been obliged to wear a shift. But since she did not have one and she was so dreadfully dirty, she did without. No one was paying her any mind as she washed anyway. She did have the servants put up a sheet for a bit of modesty.

She had no maid of her own, so Georgiana's maid helped her to dress.

By then, it was very late, and food had been brought for them to eat in their room. Elizabeth was famished, having had nothing that day, and she ate the bulk of the food. Both Georgiana and Miss Haversham were too upset to eat.

The bed was quite comfortable after everything she had been through, and Elizabeth slept like the dead.

#

The next morning, Elizabeth woke early to write letters home to her family, telling them that she was safe and of her whereabouts. She said that she was with Mr. Darcy, but she did not say that they were engaged, for she still found herself confused on that score. And what with all the furor with Georgiana, she couldn't expect Mr. Darcy would pay much attention to that soon either.

There was a rap at the door and it opened.

Elizabeth was awake and dressed, but neither Georgiana nor Miss Haversham were. She was startled.

It was Darcy. He was shaved and dressed, and he looked like the arrogant man she'd clapped eyes on the first time at the Meryton assembly. His gaze swept the room and settled on her for a moment.

She felt an odd shiver go through her. He was looking at her in such a strange way, as if he could see through her clothes. Of course, that meant nothing, she scolded herself. He desired her, but she had to remember that didn't mean she was anything remarkable to him.

Darcy squared his shoulders and looked away, and it was as if he had never looked at her at all. And just like that, she felt all of it fading away, everything that had passed between them. The overwhelming kisses and the embraces all slipping away, as if they had never been.

An invisible wall seemed to come up between them, and she did not know how to breach it.

"Wickham is gone," Darcy snapped.

Georgiana woke with a start. "Fitz? What are you doing, waking me up at this hour?"

"I have spent the better part of the night and into the morning seeking him out," said Darcy. "He's disappeared without a trace. Do you know where he might have gone, Georgiana?"

She sat up in bed. "You chased off my husband," she spat at Darcy.

Darcy stalked over to the foot of her bed. His voice was low and even. "You do not have a husband. You are not married. Stop saying that."

"I hate you," said Georgiana and pulled the covers over her head.

Darcy cast his gaze heavenward. "Get up. We're leaving for Pemberley. Now."

"I'm not leaving my husband!" Georgiana's voice was muffled from under the covers.

" _He_ _'s_ left _you_ , you foolish girl," said Darcy. "And he's not your husband. Be ready to leave in half an hour."

Georgiana flung the covers down. "Half an hour? I haven't even had breakfast."

"Fine," said Darcy. "An hour, then."

"I need at least two hours, don't be ridiculous," said Georgiana. "You are positively awful, Fitzwilliam."

"Yes, I know. You hate me." Darcy was sarcastic. He glowered. "Two hours, then. Be ready." He turned to go.

"Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth.

He turned back. "Oh, Miss Bennet." His tone changed. "I am sorry you had to witness…" He sighed. "I've sent word to your father that you will be accompanying us to Pemberley. I hope that two hours will be an adequate amount of time for you to make yourself ready?"

"Yes, it should be," she said.

"Good," he said with a short nod. "I'll see you then." And this time he did leave the room.

Elizabeth twisted her hands together in her lap. Well, it was nice that he was giving her any thought at all, writing letters to her family and all of that. But she did wish that he would have asked her if she wanted to go to Pemberley or even simply spoken to her before sending a letter to her father having already decided what was to become of her. It would have been nice to be consulted, at least.

#

The carriage ride back to Pemberley was horrid.

Georgiana cried the entire time. Well, cried and sulked alternately, sulking when she had not the energy for tears. Elizabeth expected Darcy to engage in some kind of conversation with his sister at some point, but he did not address her. He seemed determined to ignore her tears altogether.

Elizabeth thought this a mistake. She did not know why Darcy kept his silence. Perhaps he feared the embarrassment of engaging in a heated discussion in front of herself and Miss Haversham. Perhaps he thought that Georgiana's fit would pass in time if he simply ignored it. Whatever the case, Elizabeth thought that the girl needed to be reassured now. She needed the emotional welcome of family.

Truly, she had done nothing wrong. She had been swindled by Wickham, who could likely convince an angel to sin if no one stopped the man. Wickham was quite good at making people think he was an innocent party. So, there was no need to censure Georgiana for what had occurred. Instead, she must be made to see that she had been tricked and then comforted.

Elizabeth had begun to do this the day before, in the inn, but she felt as though she should not speak now and supersede Mr. Darcy, who stayed silent.

His silence was forbidding. He seemed different now. His old formal and proper self. Before all of this, she would have crossed him for sport, but now she didn't have the stomach for it. She was going to be married to this man, after all. It would not do to begin a lifelong war between them starting now.

Well, anyway, she still assumed the marriage would be taking place. Now, with Darcy back to his old self, maybe he would find some way to get out of it. She was sure that he would not want someone like her for a wife.

She wondered if he would find some other marriage for her, bundle her off with some man of lesser fortune and lesser birth. Darcy would likely pay the man to take care of her. She knew that such arrangements were sometimes made.

She would rather it not be that way, of course, but she wasn't sure that she had much say over it.

They drove straight through the day, only stopping once for a meal in the late afternoon, and then continuing until they reached Pemberley. Likely, Wickham had chosen the location for his marriage to Georgiana strategically. It was north of Pemberley, about a day's journey, meaning that Georgiana could get there quickly. Then if he needed to escape, he was that much closer to Scotland. And if something went wrong with the marriage he planned, he could have also taken Georgiana there to elope.

Darcy personally saw to it that Elizabeth had her own rooms and that a maid was assigned to her, a nice girl named Nellie, who said that she thought that she could alter some dresses to fit Elizabeth if she was in need of clothes. Darcy ordered it done. He said they would talk soon about how to have some dresses made for her, and then he left her to sleep.

Her room was massive and airy. Two floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the grounds. There was a vast expanse of floor covered by an ornate rug, and a canopy bed along the far wall. Several plush chairs sat in front of the fireplace, and there was a writing desk tucked in the far corner all set with pen, ink, and paper.

Elizabeth stood stock still, taking the place in. She was not used to sleeping alone. She and Jane shared a room at home. Thinking of Jane, she felt a sharp pang. She had sent her sister a letter from the inn, but it had been short, only explaining that she was all right.

It was late, and she knew she should sleep, but instead, she went to the desk in the room and began to write a long letter to Jane, pouring out her heart, telling her everything that had happened.

About a third of the way through the letter, she knew she could not mail it. Any letter that was received in the house would likely be read aloud to everyone, and she did not want others to hear of all of this. She would keep the letter safe and then give it to Jane when she next saw her. Or perhaps that was silly. Perhaps she should simply tell Jane everything when she next saw her.

She continued to write anyway.

But when she came to the part where she tried to talk about whether or not she was engaged to Mr. Darcy, she faltered.

 _He has told me that he intends to properly propose to me,_ she wrote. _And he has taken liberties that allow me to think that he will as well. So, I do not know why I doubt him, Jane, but I do. I suppose it is worse now that I have seen his estate. This place is so large and so immaculate. For someone like me to be mistress of all this? I do not know that I would be worthy of it, and I fear that he must see that about me. What experience do I have with running a household? Even our own house is always frightfully out of sorts, because Mama is having one fit of temper or another and cannot keep up with everything that needs done. Our own house is much smaller than this one and I shall surely fail at its upkeep, considering I have had no good example to guide my efforts._

She stopped writing, setting down the pen. And besides all that, Mr. Darcy did not even like her. He desired her, but he did not care for her.

She supposed that there were marriages built on far less, and successful ones at that. But she supposed that she was mourning what would never be. She had always wanted to marry a man she loved, and who loved her in return. Sometimes, she and her friend Charlotte Lucas would discuss their possible futures. Charlotte, seven and twenty and despairing of ever finding a husband at all, had only practical concerns. Would he be able to support her? Was he respectable? Would he provide for the children? But Elizabeth had never been so practical, though she knew she should be.

She was mourning the marriage she would never have, and that was all that it was.

She supposed that she must take Mr. Darcy at his word. He would marry her. It was the honorable and proper thing to do, and there was nothing Mr. Darcy was if not proper.

And then she flashed on his body pressed into hers, his mouth feverishly seeking her own, and the way he had whispered that he did not want to do the right thing when it came to her.

She shivered, and her body tingled.

As if summoned by the devil himself, a knock came at her door.

She stood up from the desk. It was far too late for someone to be knocking. She was already in her nightclothes, and the bed was turned down.

"H-hello?" she called out.

"Miss Bennet," came Mr. Darcy's harsh voice from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

She opened the door and he was standing there in his own nightclothes. He was wearing a long nightshirt with a banyan over it. He was carrying a candle. He looked her over.

"Mr. Darcy," she said, breathless, because the sight of him here seemed to have robbed her of her breath, "this is quite irregular."

"Indeed," he agreed. "Nevertheless, may I enter?"

She moved away from the door.

He came inside and shut the door behind him.

She backed away. "Is there something you wish to discuss with me?"

"No," he said. "I… the truth is that I don't know why I'm here. I climbed into bed, and I began thinking of you, and I knew where you were, and I began to imagine myself getting out of bed and going to you, and… and after I imagined it enough times, I found myself doing it. And now, here I am, and I don't know… you have a certain effect on me, Miss Bennet. I cannot seem to fight it."

She nodded. "Yes, of course." It was the same thing that her aunt and mother had told her of, the thing that drove men to behave in ways that they oughtn't. Her job was to stop him from whatever he wanted to do.

"I know that it is not appropriate for me to be here," said Darcy, stepping closer to her. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet."

"You should go back to your own bed," Elizabeth said, and her throat was dry. Her voice came out scratchy.

"I should," Darcy agreed but instead, he closed the distance between them and brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

She shut her eyes, leaning into the caress like a preening cat. _Stop_ , she told herself. _You have to stop this._

"This is impropriety writ large," Darcy breathed. "But you are to be mine, are you not? We will be married, and then I can come to your chamber when I please. So, does it matter if we do this now?"

Her lips parted. "That is… a good argument."

"I thought so," he said, and then he was kissing her.

This was the best kiss they had ever shared. Maybe because they were in comfortable, warm surroundings or because they were both clean and relaxed. Maybe because Mr. Darcy seemed so confident. He had called her his, and his mouth claimed hers now, sweeping her away in goodness. It was such a nice kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, hungrily and eagerly. Something inside her told her not to, but she ignored it, and let herself be lost in the sensation of her body against his.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, almost a growl, and suddenly had propelled them backwards into the nearby wall. He pinned her there, and one of his legs went between her legs, and she could feel his warmth through the thin layers of their clothing, and it was like nothing she had ever felt before.

She moaned—the sound tore through her lips. She was alight in thrills and tingles and her whole body felt very taut in the most lovely of ways.

It took everything within Elizabeth to break away. She put her hands against his chest and pushed. "Mr. Darcy," she gasped. "You have not really officially proposed to me."

"Mmmph," he groaned, his eyes still closed. "Haven't I?"

"No," she said.

His eyes popped open, and he gazed at her hungrily. "Miss Bennet, will you be my wife?"

"And be mistress of this?" She gestured around. "Of all this? Are you sure that I will be up to the task?"

He kissed her again. "You, Miss Bennet, seem able to do anything and everything. You are quite remarkable."

She blushed. "You don't think so. You are only saying this because you are trying to get me to… to surrender my virtue to you."

He smiled wickedly. He kissed her cheekbone and then her earlobe. He whispered in her ear, "Yes. Surrender to me, Miss Bennet."

She shuddered.

His mouth was on her throat now. Dear Lord, she'd never felt anything quite so good before. Her body was all flutters and clenches.

He was kissing his way down her clavicle. "So, have you accepted my proposal?"

"Of marriage?" she managed.

"Yes, of marriage. Marry me."

"I will marry you," she breathed.

"Good," he said and he raised his gaze to look at her. "Very good. I…" He touched her face again. "I know that we are in a position in which neither of us have much choice, but I could not be sure of you. I was afraid you would say no, for some reason. I cannot be sure why. I am happy that my fears were groundless."

She smiled at him. "You want to marry me, then?"

"Yes, I do."

"But… but why?" She furrowed her brow.

"Because I cannot control myself when it comes to you," he said. "I, who am master of control, go to pieces when it comes to you. I try to hold myself back from you, but I can't. I want you against my will, against my reason, against my character. I _have_ to have you. I must." He kissed her. "On that bed, now, and the night after, and every night—"

"No," she said.

He stopped, furrowing his brow.

"No, I don't want you to want me against your reason," she said. "That cannot be… pardon me, sir, but it cannot be real. It must be some kind of madness that has come over you. Something that I understand happens to men when they are around virgins. They want to ruin them and lose all sense. That is all that is happening to you. It is not… you do not love me."

His lips parted. He did not respond.

She put her hands against his chest again and shoved him.

He took a step backward.

"You must go, Mr. Darcy. Whatever it is you think you want from me, I know that I must not give in to you. Which isn't easy. I don't know why. When I was told to guard my virtue, no one ever explained that I would not _want_ to guard it, that I would want to give in as well. But I will not. I cannot. I must not."

"So, you don't want to guard it?" he said. "You are doing this out of some… obligation, something you are taught? They teach women not to enjoy the marriage bed?"

"No," she said. "I don't…" She felt flustered. "Sir, this is not the marriage bed. We are not married."

"No," he said carefully. "I suppose not."

"And once we are, I suppose it will be all right. I do think… it does seem that it will be rather enjoyable." She blushed and looked away.

"You are not frightened? It is not some fear of having children, or—or of me? You must know I would never hurt you."

"Mr. Darcy, this is your base nature that wants this, it is the sins of the flesh, and I must be careful not to fall into the temptation or we will both be sinners—"

"What if I do love you?"

"You don't," she countered. "You are only saying that because you want me to agree to allow you into my bed."

"Does it matter?" he said. "You have agreed to marry me. I will be in your bed soon enough, will I not?"

"Does it matter if you love me or not? I don't know. I suppose not. It is not a prerequisite for marriage."

"That is not what I meant." He grimaced. "I mean that it does not matter if you guard your virtue. There is no reason in continuing to do it, not if you are engaged."

"Oh, no, sir? Because I have been instructed that such things must happen between a man and wife on their wedding night."

"Yes, and on that night, which will not be too far into the future, things will be exactly the same between us. I will still want you beyond all distraction, but you will then deem it acceptable for me to feel thus? It will be somehow different once we are married?"

"No, I don't suppose it will," she said. "I suppose it will always be ultimately an emptiness between us. But I will have no right to refuse you then."

"Emptiness?" He gaped at her. "Miss Bennet, between us I feel there is an _overflowing_ of… of…"

"Lust?" she said pointedly.

"You are being ridiculous."

"Well, that is as it may be," she said. "But I stand by what I have said. You need to leave now."

"Fine," he said. "I shall leave. The mood between us is quite shattered." He turned on his heel and stalked out.

He slammed the door shut in his wake.

She flinched. She crossed the room to the closed door and she put her fingers against the wood. She caressed it, and her breath caught in her throat. She rested her cheek against the door and shook. Had she done the right thing? Should she have given in to him? What if he called off the marriage because she had denied him?

And then she knew that she had done it right. If she had been sure of him, then there would have been no danger in allowing their union. But there was still uncertainty. It was best to wait until the marriage. Then she would be bound to him and she would be safe.

#

She awoke early and Nellie helped her dress for breakfast. When she arrived in the dining room, no one was there yet, although the food had been set out on the sideboard.

The room itself was intimidating, with its high ceilings and decorative moulding and dripping chandelier. The walls were covered in portraits encased in elaborate frames.

For some time, she simply stared at all there was to see. Then she went to the sideboard and helped herself to some rolls and jam and a bit of ham. Then took her seat at the table. She wished she had something to read, if she was going to dine alone.

Then Mr. Darcy entered the room. He bowed stiffly to her. "Miss Bennet. You rise early."

"Not always," she said. "But I think our sojourn away had an effect on my internal rising times. I seem to want to fall asleep earlier and wake earlier."

"Ah," he said. He crossed the buffet table to help himself to food.

"I imagine you are an early riser regardless," said Elizabeth, smiling to herself.

Mr. Darcy sat down across from her. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, it is only that is the kind of person you are, Mr. Darcy. You are not the sort to waste daylight by doing something as fruitless as sleep, I rather imagine."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you making fun of me, Miss Bennet? Is this where we have found ourselves again? Next you shall be scolding me on the way I conduct my conversation, as you did when we were dancing at Netherfield, I shouldn't wonder."

She laughed. "Hardly scolding and hardly making fun. You mistake me, sir. I find the fun where I can, that is all."

"Yes," he said. He picked up his fork. "Honestly, that is one of the things that drew me most to you. I remember seeing you across the room at that ball in Meryton, and you were laughing, and you looked for all the world as if you were having the time of your life. And all I could feel that was that it was loud and crowded and the punch was not very good."

"That punch, sir?" She drew back, pretending to be offended. "Why I made that punch myself."

"Oh," he said, looking flustered. "Well, I had not meant to—"

She burst into another gale of laughter. "Oh, excuse me, I am sorry."

"What?" he said, furrowing his brow at her, but she could see that a smile was lurking under his expression.

"I did not make the punch, Mr. Darcy," she said, still snickering a bit. "When would I make punch?"

"So, you said that to make fun of me."

"I did not expect you to take me seriously," she said, and she was still laughing. "You are so solemn, sir."

He inclined his head. "Well, I think that time with you will do me good, then. You are not solemn, and it is quite refreshing."

She found herself blushing again. Was she always to blush when he paid her compliments? And these compliments, they seemed genuine. Still, she doubted him, and she wondered whether that was down to his behavior or her own prejudices. She sipped at her tea thoughtfully.

"Miss Bennet," he said urgently in a low voice, "I must apologize to you for last night."

Her head jerked up. "Oh, there is no need to discuss that."

"Not in any great detail, to be sure," he said. "I am quite mortified by my behavior, of course. It is not at all like me. I should never have imposed upon you in that way, nor should I have expected you to… to allow me to…" He looked down at his breakfast. "I most humbly beg your forgiveness."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy…" She surveyed him. It was not like him, was it? She couldn't imagine Mr. Darcy doing that in any other circumstance. She knew that her mother and aunt had claimed that men were afflicted by all women, and that they could not help themselves, but if there was a man out there who had restraint in abundance, it was Mr. Darcy. Perhaps she was, in fact, special. Perhaps his behavior toward her—

"Excuse me, sir," came the voice of a maid.

Darcy straightened and turned, alarmed.

Elizabeth looked toward the maid too, who was standing in the doorway of the dining room.

"I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir," said the maid. "But your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has just arrived."

Darcy scrambled to his feet, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. "Lady Catherine? Here? At this time of the morning? Did she ride straight through the night to arrive?"

"That I could not tell you, sir," said the maid.

Darcy sighed. "No, of course not. Well, if she is desirous of breakfast, please show her to the dining room. Otherwise, have her taken to the sitting room in the east wing. I shall be there to receive her shortly."

"Very good, sir," the maid, bobbing her head. She exited the room.

Darcy threw his napkin down on the table. "Dash it all," he muttered.

"You are not pleased at the arrival of your aunt?" said Elizabeth, raising her eyebrows. She knew very little of Lady Catherine, and what she did know came largely from the lips of Mr. Collins, who had been unable to keep silent on the subject. He revered Lady Catherine to the point of near worship. Elizabeth should have suspected that anyone Mr. Collins admired was disagreeable.

"You have not met her," said Mr. Darcy. "Once you have, you will understand."

#

Lady Catherine de Bourgh sat in the sitting room in the east wing surrounded by tea and tarts, which she was eating with gusto, though she had claimed not to be hungry enough for breakfast. She was a mature woman with a haughty face. Her dress was elaborate and she carried a cane with an ornately carved grip, which she clutched with one hand and used to gesture with when she spoke, meaning that anyone sitting close to her had to watch that they were not struck by the object.

She was accompanied by her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh, a pale girl in a dark frock who kept yawning. She looked exhausted.

"I must say, Darcy, you will need to speak to your cook about these lemon tarts," said Lady Catherine. "The lemon flavor is quite strong."

"Well," said Darcy, who was standing in the doorway with Elizabeth, "one expects that with a lemon tart, I would think."

"No, no," said Lady Catherine, stamping her cane against the floor. "One does not. Anyone well-versed in managing a household would know how a lemon tart should taste. That is why you need a proper partner. When Anne is mistress of Pemberley, she will set the house right, just as your mother did. Won't you, Anne?"

Anne yawned.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Madam, we have many things to discuss, and one of them is the fact that I have asked Miss Bennet to—"

"We do have a great many things to discuss," agreed Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth who was standing behind Mr. Darcy, was doing her best not to be alarmed. When _Anne_ was mistress of Pemberley? Was Darcy betrothed? It wasn't uncommon for men of his station to have been signed into agreements for marriage in infancy. But surely if he really were promised elsewhere, then he would not have offered for her. Why had he never mentioned it?

"Where have you been, firstly?" said Lady Catherine. "I received word that you had given permission for your sister to marry some nobody Wickerly, and I immediately set off to find you and try to talk some sense into you before you allowed such a travesty to occur."

Darcy shook his head. "No, I did not give my permission. Well, I did, but it was under duress, and, at any rate, we have stopped the wedding and my sister is home here and safe. The villain who sought to do her harm will be apprehended and brought to justice, and all will be well. So, as you can see, everything is just fine now. You might have saved yourself a trip."

"Young girls may think that they are in love with some man or the other, but these are passing fancies, and you mustn't give in to them," said Lady Catherine. "Besides which, that Wimberly man is probably a fortune hunter. I really think you must forbid the union."

Darcy's nostrils flared. "As I have said—"

"And while we are discussing all this," said Lady Catherine, "how long have these draperies been hanging in this room?" She pointed at them with her cane.

"I really couldn't say," said Mr. Darcy.

"If this were my home, I would have them taken down and put up something that was conducive to a bit more light and air in here. The room is rather claustrophobic. You wouldn't know of such things, Darcy, since you have no proper wife to look after the estate for you, but that is why you are in some danger, sir. How long to you intend to tarry unmarried? It is time you thought about such things, do you not agree?"

Darcy sat down in a chair and shut his eyes.

Elizabeth, unsure of what to do, sat down beside him.

Lady Catherine seemed to notice her. "You. Who are you?"

"I apologize," said Darcy, opening his eyes. "Allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. My fiancee. Miss Bennet, this is my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and my cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh. Pray excuse the lapse in proper introductions. So very irregular."

Lady Catherine's eyes widened so much that Elizabeth could see a frightful amount whites surrounding the pupil. She sputtered. "Your _what_?"

"I believe you heard me," said Darcy. He helped himself to a lemon tart, looking pleased with himself.

Elizabeth's stomach roiled, however. It had already been made clear that Lady Catherine expected Darcy to marry Anne. Elizabeth could see that the woman was not pleased by Darcy's pronouncement.

"I do not understand how this could have happened," said Lady Catherine. "You will explain it all to me, nephew. How did you meet Miss Bennet?"

"Well, I met her in Hertfordshire, of course," said Darcy, taking his second lemon tart. "That is, after all, where she lives."

"Don't be impertinent with me, Darcy," said Lady Catherine imperiously.

"We met at a ball, madam," said Darcy.

"A ball?"

"Well, isn't it often customary for men and women to be introduced at such events?"

Lady Catherine scowled. "How did you come to be engaged to this…" She looked Elizabeth up and down. "I do not know you, Miss Bennet. Who is your father?"

"Her father," said Darcy, before Elizabeth could speak. "Is a gentleman. From Hertfordshire. Honestly, madam, I can't help but feel as if this line of questioning is rather invasive. Don't you trust me to find my own suitable wife?"

"Frankly, no, I do not," Lady Catherine, flinging her cane forward to point the end at Darcy. "You are a young man who will look for all the wrong features in a wife. Miss Bennet is quite pretty, but that does not mean that she would be any use in picking out draperies. Tell me, girl, what sort of drapes would you put in this room?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat, taken off guard. "Well, to be honest, I do like the ones that are here. I think that in the east wing, it might be a mistake to have lighter draperies, because the morning sun would come into this room and anyone facing the windows would be quite blinded."

Lady Catherine scoffed.

Darcy grinned at her. "Oh, I agree with you heartily, Miss Bennet. The heavy drapes are just the thing for this room."

Elizabeth blushed again. Lord, she _was_ blushing every time he said something complimentary, wasn't she?

"Draperies aside," said Lady Catherine, "the main point of discussion is that you are promised to Miss de Bourgh." She gestured to Anne with her cane.

Anne yawned.

"Listen," said Darcy quietly, "I know that you and my mother would often have lively discussions about the prospect of your children marrying, but there was no official agreement—"

"It was your mother's dying wish!" Lady Catherine pounded her cane on the floor. "How dare you deny her memory? I have to say, Darcy, I am appalled. Here you are, marrying this Bennet woman, from a family that no one has ever heard of, and then you are marrying poor Georgiana off to some Whitson person who is, I understand, a _soldier_?"

"I am _not_ marrying her to Wickham," said Darcy, and there was ice in his tone. "You have not been listening to me."

"Well, I forbid all of it," said Lady Catherine. "And if your parents were alive, they should not have heard of it, either."

Anne yawned again, sighing loudly as she did so.

Darcy got to his feet. "I believe you must be tired from your journey. You and Miss de Bourgh will want to relax for several hours, I can only imagine. Miss Bennet and I will not tax you any longer with our company."

"Oh, Darcy, please," said Lady Catherine. "I am quite up to a bit of conversation now. I have had little to divert me during the journey and—"

"No, I insist," said Darcy. He looked pointedly at Elizabeth, who stood up too. "We will take our leave, madam. It was so good of you to make such an arduous journey to visit. I cannot say how pleased I am by your presence." He offered Elizabeth his arm.

She took it.

Together, they strolled out of the sitting room.

He escorted her up the hallway. "You mustn't worry about my aunt," he said softly to her.

"But are you promised to your cousin?" said Elizabeth.

"No," said Darcy. "I am not. I am promised to you."

Her insides turned over at that.

"I'll do my best to get rid of Lady Catherine," Darcy sighed. "But I don't know how long that might take. We'll have to endure her until then."


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"What?" said Georgiana at the dinner table that evening. "You're getting married, Fitzwilliam? You didn't think to tell me? Well, why should you? In fact, you tell me nothing."

Elizabeth had spent the day exploring Pemberley at Darcy's urging. He told her that he wanted to her become familiar with the place, because it was to be her home. She could hardly accept that. The place was so grand. But she did find exploring a rather exciting activity. She had been accompanied by her maid, Nellie, who had told her stories about the family, like how Darcy had allowed her to go home for an entire two months when her older sister had a baby, and paid her wages the entire time besides. _He is the best master,_ she said. _And now he says that if you and I are happy together, I am to be your maid, and you will be the lady of the house. I am simply beside myself._

Elizabeth liked Nellie quite a lot. She had never had a maid of her own. At home, she and her sisters and mother all shared one maid, who had to help dress and do their hair. The one maid couldn't possibly manage all of that, so Elizabeth and her sisters had become proficient in filling in the gaps. A maid all to herself was an impossible luxury.

She loved the entire estate. Looking at it left her giddy and incredulous, as if she had been whisked off into some kind of fairy tale. But then she had been deposited into this dinner, which was full of tension. Lady Catherine was not concealing her disapproval of Elizabeth, and Georgiana was still quite upset.

Elizabeth gathered that Darcy had still not spoken to his sister about all that had transpired. He must do so. She resolved she would suggest it to him. Georgiana was still hurting, and nothing was being done for the poor girl. If Darcy would not speak to her, Elizabeth would do so herself.

"Look," Darcy was saying, "of course I wanted to talk to you about this, Georgiana, but there has been so little time."

"I was alone all day," said Georgiana. "You did not seek me out."

"What has transpired between myself and Miss Bennet has been somewhat thrust upon us," said Darcy. "When Wickham captured us both—"

"Oh, again with these lies," said Georgiana, screwing up her face. "Georgie would never do such a thing."

"Captured?" said Lady Catherine, looking eager. "This I have not heard. Please tell me the details, Darcy."

Darcy cut his meat. "It is hardly proper dinner conversation. It was a harrowing ordeal that Miss Bennet and I were put through. We were threatened and starved. We managed to escape, but I daresay things were nearly worse afterward, as we had no money or means by which to obtain shelter or food or transportation. We were forced, in fact, to become thieves, and I did not have time today to see you, Georgiana, because I was busy posting payments to the people that we were obliged to take food and horses from. I have paid them all back thricefold and sent them my apologies and gratitude."

Georgiana huffed. "Yes, you're always busy. And if you're not busy, you're not here. And if you are here, you're sending me away."

"The last time I sent you away, it was at your express desire," said Darcy. "To Ramsgate. And look how that turned out."

"Georgie and I are in love," said Georgiana. "You may think to keep us away from each other, but you will not be able to do so. He will come for me. I know it. He is my husband now."

"He is _not_ ," said Lady Catherine, scandalized.

"No, he is not," Darcy agreed.

"I said, 'I do,'" said Georgiana. "Which means that, in the eyes of God, we are joined together."

"Listen, my sweet girl," said Lady Catherine, "this man only sought you for your fortune. You must realize this. And even if he did love you, what is love? A passing whim that fades quickly. It is not a basis for something as enduring as marriage."

"No," said Georgiana. "It is different between Georgie and me—"

"Stop _calling_ him that," said Darcy, his mouth twisting in disgust.

"If it distresses you, I shall call him that as much as I desire," said Georgiana, lifting her chin. "I wish to inflict as much pain upon you as you have inflicted on me."

Darcy's shoulders sagged.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said Lady Catherine. "He's only done what any guardian would do. You will forget this Winterbottom in time, my dear." She turned to Darcy. "Am I given to understand that you are marrying Miss Bennet because your capture compromised her?"

Darcy's lips parted.

"Well?" said Lady Catherine.

"I do not think such subjects should be discussed at dinner," said Darcy.

"Oh, nephew, you are too fastidious by half." Lady Catherine waved this away. "Listen, Miss Bennet, if you were captured by Wickersham or whatever his name is, then _he_ is the one who compromised you." She turned to her nephew. "Darcy, you must find this man and make him marry Miss Bennet. And then you shall be free to marry where you are meant to marry."

"That is…" Darcy's face was red. "You are speaking of things you don't understand, madam. Wickham is no suitable husband for anyone. He is meant for nothing more than the gallows, I'm afraid. He is a common criminal."

"Stop saying things like that!" said Georgiana.

"I'm sorry, Georgiana," said Darcy quietly. "I know you think you know him, but you don't."

"Obviously, Miss Bennet shouldn't marry my Wickham," said Georgiana. "But I don't see why _you_ have to marry her, Fitzwilliam. Our aunt is right. She's hardly a worthy match for you."

Elizabeth swallowed hard. She had steeled herself from censure from Lady Catherine, and the dinner thus far had been quite hard to take, but she had not expected to hear such a thing from Darcy's own sister. However, why should she expect differently? Georgiana was a close personal friend of Miss Caroline Bingley's, after all, and Elizabeth knew that woman's opinion of her family.

"Georgiana!" Darcy snapped. "Apologize to Miss Bennet. She is to be your sister-in-law and you must not say such uncharitable things."

"No, it is all right," Elizabeth spoke up. "Miss Darcy has been through quite a lot, and she is understandably upset. I am sure she feels as if no one is listening to her. I am sure she is quite distraught." She tried to catch Georgiana's eye across the table.

Georgiana looked away pointedly. Her lower lip was trembling.

"Wickham may have used you, Miss Darcy, but that is no reflection on you. You are a lovely girl, and you are much more than your fortune," said Elizabeth. "Why, everyone who knows you goes on about your accomplishments and poise and sweet disposition. I have heard nothing but praise in regards to you. And your brother quite adores you. You may feel alone, but—"

"I need to be excused," Georgiana interrupted, standing up, her voice full of tears.

Elizabeth winced. She should not have said so much. It was only that she suspected that Georgiana had been such easy prey for Wickham because she felt so neglected. And Elizabeth knew how Wickham could make a girl feel as if she were the only woman in the room.

Why, she herself had been susceptible to it. When Wickham arrived, he had paid her such flattering attentions. And the last man's opinion of her that she had heard had been Mr. Darcy's, which was the opposite of flattering. She was probably even more susceptible to Wickham's charms in the wake of all that. Yes, she thought she might know exactly how Georgiana felt.

Elizabeth bit down on her bottom lip. "I'm so terribly sorry, Miss Darcy."

"Don't," said Georgiana, glaring at her. Tears began to slide down her cheeks. "I really have to go," she murmured and then she fled the room.

Lady Catherine rolled her eyes. "Such theatrics."

Darcy rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.

Lady Catherine turned to Elizabeth. "Your father. Who is he?"

"Well, Lady Catherine, perhaps you know that Mr. Collins, the clergyman in your parsonage, is the recipient of my father's estate. It is entailed upon him, in fact."

"Oh," said Lady Catherine, pursing her lips. "So, that is who you are, then." She nodded. "Yes, yes. I remember now. Collins spoke of going to stay with the Bennets."

"Mr. Collins spoke of you as well," said Elizabeth. "Often and with much admiration."

"You have a great many sisters, I am given to understand," said Lady Catherine.

"Four, madam," said Elizabeth.

"Your ladyship," said Darcy, "must you put my fiancee through such a grueling set of questions? Might we not enjoy a bit of our dinner, now that you have chased Georgiana away?"

" _I_ chased her away?" Lady Catherine scoffed. "It was Miss Bennet who did that, I'm afraid."

Elizabeth flushed. "I did not mean to upset her. I sought to comfort—"

"You did nothing wrong," said Darcy. "Please, madam."

"Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?" said Lady Catherine, pushing her food around on her plate.

"A bit," said Elizabeth.

"Perhaps after dinner, you can entertain us all," said Lady Catherine. "What about your sisters? Do they play and sing as well?"

"One of them does."

"And you did not all learn? You should have. Your father's income would not bar such a thing. Do you draw?"

"No, I'm afraid not," said Elizabeth.

"And your sisters?"

"No, none of us draw," said Elizabeth.

"But were you not taken to London to have the benefit of the masters every spring?" said Lady Catherine.

"No, I'm afraid not," said Elizabeth. "I'm sure my mother would have had no objection, but my father despises London."

"Despises London?" Lady Catherine cleared her throat. "What an odd, odd thing to say. What about your governess? Surely she taught drawing."

"We never had a governess," said Elizabeth, who was beginning to feel about two inches high.

"I really much insist that we leave this subject," said Mr. Darcy.

"No governess!" Lady Catherine drew herself up. "Why I couldn't possibly understand that. Whyever not?"

"I suppose it was not deemed necessary," said Elizabeth.

"And for the life of me, I cannot even understand how it is that you and Mr. Darcy met at all. I am given to believe that you have an older sister, as yet unmarried, who Mr. Collins was to perhaps inquire after the hand of. So, Mr. Darcy says you met at a ball, but how is it that you are out in society before your sister is married?"

"We are all out, madam," said Elizabeth quietly.

"What? The younger ones before the older are even married? How irregular!"

Elizabeth set her jaw. "You know, I think it would be very hard upon younger sisters, that they should not have their share of society and amusement because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry early. The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first. And to be kept back, well, I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind."

"Oh, indeed," said Lady Catherine. "You give your opinion rather easily, don't you, Miss Bennet? And quite strongly for such a young person. Pray, how old are you?"

"I say," said Darcy, rather loudly. "Don't you find the meat to be very tender?"

Elizabeth stared down Lady Catherine. "With three younger sisters out in society, your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it."

Lady Catherine harrumphed. "You have no reason to conceal your age. Not unless you are trying to trick my nephew into marrying a woman too old to bear his children."

"Madam!" said Darcy, shaking his head.

"I am not one and twenty," said Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes.

"There, you see, there is not reason to conceal your age."

"Perhaps not," said Elizabeth. "But there is also no reason to demand to know it of someone."

"You are rather impertinent, aren't you?" said Lady Catherine.

"And you are rather given to saying whatever crosses your mind, aren't you?"

Lady Catherine's eyes widened again.

"But rest easy, madam," said Elizabeth, returning to her food. "I rather admire that about you. Your nephew tells me you ride horses astride. Some might call that shocking, but I call it strong and independent. You are a woman to be reckoned with, I imagine."

Lady Catherine's lips curled. "That is not an inaccurate description."

"Well, I am perhaps not so bold as you," said Elizabeth, "but I am not a feather you can knock over with one breath either."

Lady Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Under other circumstances, I think I might like you, Miss Bennet. But mark my words, you will not marry my nephew." She turned round. "Are we not to be served another course soon? Where are the footmen?"

#

Darcy couldn't help but be impressed with the way that Elizabeth had stood up to his aunt. Lady Catherine was a bit of a force of nature, he knew. She could barrel through like a storm, laying waste to everything in her path. He was pleased to see that Elizabeth was not cowed by the woman. He also realized that he had been uncharitable towards Elizabeth's relations without thought to his own. Lady Catherine was easily as difficult to take as Mrs. Bennet, perhaps more so, considering she outranked everyone.

But Elizabeth was a force herself.

After dinner, he had no other gentlemen to drink port with, so he came to the drawing room for tea with the women. Only Elizabeth had excused herself early for bed, and Georgiana was gone, so it was only himself, Lady Catherine, and Anne.

He resolved to make an excuse and also retire at the earliest opportunity, but he could not leave at once without being rude, so he sat down with his aunt. He tried to think of what he might say to her that would quell her arguments against his marrying Elizabeth. But he was afraid that he could not think of anything. His aunt had been set upon his and Anne's union since Anne was born.

He had never taken the idea seriously, however. As for Anne herself, he realized that he had no notion of who she was, for she was often quiet. This wasn't strictly her fault. Her mother rarely gave the girl time to speak. Though she was old enough to have made a debut in society, his aunt had kept her daughter at home, claiming she was too sickly for such a thing. Also, Darcy thought, she didn't see the need to show the girl to other suitors when she was dead set on Darcy and Anne making a match.

"Truly, Darcy, you cannot marry that Bennet girl," said Lady Catherine by way of greeting.

"With all due respect," said Darcy, "I am the master of myself, and I shall do whatever it is that I think is best."

"But you are young and stupid," said Lady Catherine. She eyed him. "Have you truly compromised her, then? Is there a possibility of a child?"

"No," said Darcy, horrified, and he turned to look at Anne. "This is hardly the sort of thing that should be discussed here."

"Oh, Anne does not understand." Lady Catherine waved that away. "Well, I must say that I am pleased to hear that. You are telling me the truth, aren't you? It would be best if I knew. If you have been careless, it does change things, but it does not make the situation impossible. You will simply have to pay whoever you want to marry her more. And it might be best to find a widower who already has an heir. Men never want to accept another's leavings as their firstborn."

"Stop it," said Darcy, sighing. "There is no child, and no chance of one, not until we are married." But he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, because this might well not be true if had been left to his own devices with Miss Bennet the night before. Not that it would have changed anything. He was going to marry her and nothing would shake him from that purpose. It was only that he had certain principles, and Miss Bennet tempted him to cross them. He wasn't sure why she affected him so deeply.

He knew that he liked it. It was something that was missing from his life, this unbridled passion. Even the way she laughed undid him. It was as if she put her whole being into her merriment. He liked being around someone so bright and alive.

"You will not marry that woman," said Lady Catherine. "I forbid it."

"Listen, you must know that I have never truly considered marrying Anne." He turned to her. "I don't mean this as any slight toward you, cousin. You are quite a remarkable creature, I'm sure. We so rarely are able to speak."

"It's all right," said Anne. "I should like to have a Season, myself."

"You are too sickly to dance," said Lady Catherine dismissively.

"You always say that, Mama, but you have never allowed me to _try_ dancing," said Anne.

Lady Catherine sniffed. "A mother knows best, darling. Let's hear no more of this nonsense."

Darcy felt suddenly sympathetic toward Anne, acutely so. What a way to be raised. What a mother to have. Perhaps he should try to find someone to marry Anne and rescue her from his aunt.

"Darcy, I will not be moved on this," said Lady Catherine.

"Neither will I," said Darcy. "I have fallen for Miss Bennet, you see. I love her."

"Oh," said Lady Catherine, shivering. "That is unacceptable. And foolish besides. Truly, I had expected better of you, nephew."

#

"You mustn't worry about it," Nellie was saying to Elizabeth as she braided her hair for Elizabeth to go to sleep. "Mr. Darcy is always obeyed, and he is quite certain what he wants. He was clear to me that is going to marry you, and I am sure his aunt couldn't dissuade him of such a thing."

Elizabeth nodded. "I believe you are right, Nellie. I do." At least she wanted to. But she could not help but doubt it all, she realized. Darcy had been forced into this. He had not chosen her. And why should she think he truly cared for her? She wished that she could have confidence in him, and for the most part, she did, but the doubts would not be silent.

There was a knock at her door.

She turned back to Nellie. "Who could that be?"

"I'll answer it," said Nellie, crossing the room. She opened the door.

Mr. Darcy was there. He was still dressed, thank heaven. But Elizabeth was not. She was only in her shift. She reached for her bed jacket and put it on over her nightclothes.

"Oh, sir," said Nellie. "I suppose I shall leave you—"

"Stay, Nellie," said Darcy, coming into the room. "It would be proper for you to stay."

Nellie nodded. "Yes, sir."

Of course, maids were not really acceptable chaperones. They could be so easily paid off. But she recognized that Mr. Darcy was making a gesture. He was not to make another attempt on her virtue that night.

Why was she disappointed?

"I'm sorry to intrude upon you," said Mr. Darcy. "If you are uncomfortable with my being here, I can leave."

"It is all right," said Elizabeth. "What can I do for you?" Why was he here?

"I only… I wanted to see you after the travesty today at dinner," he said. "I thought you were brilliant, the way you stood up to her. I am only sorry you had to contend with the things she said. She was abominably rude."

Elizabeth smiled. "Well, she does have a way of not mincing words, I suppose. But she did point out some things that are true. I have not had the same education that other women you would generally consider for a bride might have had."

"Oh, because you cannot draw," said Darcy, snorting. "Yes, you're right. Whatever shall I do?"

"But I'm not accomplished," she said. "And you think it quite important that women who are called accomplished be truly accomplished, after all."

He hung his head. "Miss Bennet, please. You must know that when I said that, I did not mean to imply… Will you bring up all the stupid things I have said in every discussion we have for the rest of our lives?"

"I…" She folded her arms over her chest. "Would you consider me accomplished?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I would," he said. "I don't know another woman who could keep her head in a situation such as the one we were in. And you fought off thieves and helped steal horses and rode astride under uncomfortable circumstances. All of those things, I think, make you quite accomplished."

And again, she was blushing. She looked down at her feet.

It was quiet for a time.

When she raised her gaze again, Darcy was smiling at her.

She could not help but smile back.

His hand jerked forward, as if moving against his will, and he seized her hand.

She sucked in breath sharply. His touch seemed to sear into her, and even though it was only their fingers touching, she could feel it everywhere. Her body felt heavy and loose and she was once again in the clutch of a feeling that there was something ancient and pleasant her body wanted from this man.

His lips parted.

She drew in a shaky breath.

They gazed at each other.

She wished he would dismiss Nellie and kiss her again. She wanted to put her hands on his face, to trace the hard lines of his jaw and let her fingers rest against his broad shoulders. She wanted to feel her body crushed against his. She wanted to be as close to him as she had been before.

"Well," he said softly.

"Yes?" she breathed.

Gently, he withdrew his hand. "I only came to say that, and since I have done so, I will take my leave now."

"Of course," she said. She was disappointed, even though it was at her insistence that he did not make advances toward her, and after all—after all—she was not sure of this man, not truly. But that didn't mean that she didn't want…

He turned to go.

"Mr. Darcy?"

He turned back. "Yes?"

She wanted to ask him to dismiss Nellie and then to begin tearing at his cravat. Instead, she said, "It is quite nice that you've made time to speak to me. Perhaps you should speak to your sister as well?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You mean now?"

"I think she would appreciate it, yes," said Elizabeth. Truly, she wanted him to stay with her now, but that couldn't happen. And Georgiana did need her brother, of that Elizabeth was certain. She could have brought this up with more delicacy, perhaps, but Mr. Darcy had made her so flustered by touching her hand, and… and by _looking_ at her, so she couldn't be blamed for her lack of eloquence.

"Well, certainly by now, she's cried herself to sleep."

"Alone," said Elizabeth. "Even if she had fallen asleep, she might welcome some company. And you are her brother, her only family. She wants you, and you have not spoken to her, not truly, since we rescued her from Wickham." As she spoke the words, she began to feel impassioned about Georgiana's plight, almost as if she was funneling her desire for Darcy into her indignation with him. Maybe she was indignant that he made her feel so much desire. Maybe he could stand to be lectured.

"She needs time to calm down," said Darcy. "There is no way I could speak to her now. She would do nothing but rage at me."

"You lamented leaving her too much on her own," said Elizabeth. "You said she reminded you of your mother, and that you avoided her. And now, you are doing the same thing. You are neglecting her, and just when she needs you."

Darcy cleared his throat. "I hardly think I am neglecting her."

"Well, I do," said Elizabeth. "And I have already decided that if you will not speak to her, I shall talk to her myself. Not tonight, as I don't think she would welcome me. But on the morrow, certainly."

"Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but you do not know my sister as I do. When she gets into one of these passions, it is best to let her be until it runs its course."

"I disagree, sir," she said. "I may not know your sister in particular, but I do have three younger sisters, besides having once been a young girl myself, and I think that what your sister needs now, more than anything, is your support."

"But I don't support her." And now his voice was rising. "In fact, I am rather put out by her behavior. I might venture to say that I am angry. She is willfully attached to Wickham—"

"Because he has charmed her. She doesn't know any better."

"She should know that a union between her and Mr. Wickham is impossible even if he were not such a wretch. The difference in their stations forbids it."

"She is starving for affection and Wickham gives it to her. She cannot get it anywhere else." Elizabeth's voice was rising too.

"What is that supposed to mean? Of course she is showered with affection. She is a beloved sister."

"It seems to me that you never spend any time with her at all. You do not speak to her alone. You do not reassure her. You keep her entirely cut off, and it is no wonder that she would long for something else—"

"That is quite enough, Miss Bennet." His face was red.

Her mouth was open. She closed it. She supposed he would expect her to apologize now, but she wasn't sorry. She was right, and he was wrong. He was being ridiculous and closed off, and Georgiana needed warmth and togetherness.

"If I want your opinion on a matter, I will ask for it," he said.

"Oh, so otherwise I'm to keep my own counsel, then?"

"Yes."

"I should never say anything that might upset you, I suppose. You wouldn't be able to bear it." She was sarcastic.

"Miss Bennet, you are far too free with me."

"You are to be my husband. Am I not to speak my mind then? How delightful it will be to share my life with you and never tell you what I truly think."

His nostrils flared.

Oh, she was doing it again. She was speaking when she oughtn't. Honestly, she did need to remind herself to keep her tongue in check. She did sometimes go on and on when silence was the more prudent course of action. She pressed her lips together.

"Perhaps it is best not to continue this conversation just now," said Mr. Darcy in a low voice.

She only nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Good night, Miss Bennet." He turned and walked quickly to the door.


	22. Chapter 22

**This chapter is short, so I'm posting two today. Things get super crazy at this point. But we are closing in on the end of the book! Shouldn't be too much longer.**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

The following morning at breakfast, it was only her and Darcy again. He apologized for his outburst of temper the night before. She apologized as well. She still thought that he should talk to Georgiana, but she could see that her advice was not welcomed, so she did not insist upon anything.

She had also meant what she said about the prospect of marrying a man who took her advice as criticism not being very appealing. But she had thought it all through, and she wished she had not said it out loud. For, of course, it was preferable to marry Mr. Darcy and live here in this estate than to be ruined and shunned.

Darcy didn't bring up marriage again, though, not once, not even when Lady Catherine continued to insist that Darcy would be marrying her daughter at every chance she got. Instead, Darcy ignored every word out of Lady Catherine's mouth. He was not to be found during the day. Instead, he left to and inspect the grounds and the surrounding tenant farms. He said he had a lot of business to take care of, and Elizabeth supposed that he did.

Elizabeth tried to speak to Georgiana, but her attempts were not well received. On one occasion, Georgiana informed Elizabeth that she was far too tired to spend any time speaking just then. On another, Georgiana said that she had a headache. On the third attempt, Georgiana told Elizabeth, "I do not think I like you, and I do not want you to marry my brother. I would rather not be around you, if you please."

Elizabeth couldn't help but remember that Wickham had described Georgiana as proud. She wondered if he had been accurate in his description. But she could not but think that Wickham was a liar in all things.

Days passed.

Elizabeth waited for word back from her family, especially Jane, and finally, she received a letter from her mother, saying that they were much obliged to Lady Catherine for arranging for Elizabeth's journey home, and that they would discuss all with her when she arrived.

Elizabeth didn't know what to make of this.

And then it came out that Lady Catherine had written to her family saying that she would sent Elizabeth home in her own carriage. It was obvious that Lady Catherine had decided to try to get Elizabeth out of the way.

Mr. Darcy wasn't pleased. He said that his intention had been to take Elizabeth home himself. He said that he was not ready to depart yet, but that it would not be too long, and that they had better send a letter to Elizabeth's family telling them to be patient.

But Lady Catherine said this was ridiculous. She had already made the arrangements, and Elizabeth's parents must be beside themselves with worry, since their daughter had gone missing without a trace. She'd been abducted, after all. Darcy would be cruel to keep a daughter from her mother.

Elizabeth herself was torn. She would have rather been escorted back by Mr. Darcy so that all assurances could be made about her reputation. But she also missed her family terribly, especially Jane and her father. She did want to see them again.

Elizabeth knew that Lady Catherine had conceived of this scheme as a way to get her away from Pemberley so that her ladyship could work on Mr. Darcy and convince him to marry her daughter instead of Elizabeth.

But when no excuses could be found to keep Elizabeth at Pemberley, she was packed up and sent off to her family.

#

Mr. Darcy watched Elizabeth go off in the carriage, and he wasn't sure how things stood between them anymore. He had botched it all, he thought, and he wasn't sure where he had gone wrong.

He hadn't been angry at Elizabeth for disagreeing with him or even for trying to correct him. He liked to think that he wasn't so self-important that he couldn't be shown his own faults. So, it wasn't that. Instead, he had become angry because he did not want to talk to Georgiana.

But when he asked himself why this was, he could not really work through it.

Yes, he felt betrayed by his sister, who seemed to truly think herself in love with a man who was little better than a common criminal. His hatred of George Wickham knew no bounds. For his sister to care for him was impossible to bear.

But as Elizabeth had said, Georgiana had been tricked by Wickham. The man was good at such things, and Darcy couldn't blame Georgiana for being taken in. Most people were.

That couldn't really be the reason, could it?

Perhaps he didn't want to do it because he had no idea what to say to her about any of it. The entire subject seemed awkward in the extreme, and he felt unprepared to handle it.

Whatever the case, he continued to avoid Georgiana while Elizabeth was still there. And then, after she had gone, he still avoided his sister.

Georgiana made it easy. She only came down for one meal of the day—dinner—and then she always excused herself to her room early, claiming exhaustion.

One evening, Georgiana did not come down for dinner either.

Darcy decided that he was going to have to face her at some point, and so he girded his loins and went to Georgiana's room. He wasn't sure what it was that he was going to say to her. He especially did not want to argue. If all she wanted to do was yell at him that Wickham was not wicked, he would leave. He could not go back and forth on that point.

But Georgiana wasn't in her room.

Concerned, Darcy sought out Miss Haversham, who had no idea where Georgiana was. She had been hiding in her chambers, certain that Darcy was going to dismiss her after what had occurred with Mr. Wickham.

Darcy assured her that she still had a job, and then Miss Haversham said he should seek out Georgiana's maid, Cathy, in whom Georgiana confided everything.

So Darcy did as he was advised and found Cathy.

Cathy took one look at him and burst into tears. "Oh, I told her she wouldn't be able to get away with it, but she wouldn't listen."

"Get away with what?" said Darcy.

"She's been getting letters from Mr. Wickham," said Cathy. "She took a horse from the stables and rode off to meet him."

Darcy was so shocked that he couldn't even speak. How could this have happened? Under his own roof? "Where did the letters come from, Cathy?"

"I don't know," said Cathy. "I would find them out in the garden by the fountains and bring them to her. Then I left her replies in the same place."

"And you didn't tell me of the letters?"

"She made me promise not to," said Cathy. "She threatened me. She said she would never give me a recommendation if I did not help her."

Darcy's shoulders slumped.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," said Cathy. "I knew I was in trouble when it all started. I knew that no matter what I did I wasn't going to get a recommendation, and that I'd get the boot. I been up nights thinking about it. In some ways, I'm relieved you finally know and that it's all over. I couldn't bear worrying about it anymore."

Was he to be beset with women who were all certain of being dismissed from his service? He had no time for that. Georgiana was all that mattered. "These letters, do you still have them?"

"She kept them in the drawer of her desk," said Cathy. "But surely she took them along with her when she left."

"Show me," said Darcy.

But of course, the letters were not there. And Cathy had not been confided in as to where Georgiana and Wickham would be headed.

Darcy thought that perhaps the location might be Scotland. Perhaps Wickham did not trust the marriage ceremony performed and would want them to elope.

What must Wickham be thinking? He couldn't really believe that Darcy would honor a marriage between his sister and Wickham now. He couldn't really think that he would get his hands on Georgiana's money. No, there was something more to it. Wickham was doing this to hurt Darcy. He was using Georgiana against his former friend. It was his way of trying to destroy Darcy.

Damned if it wasn't working.

And to think, perhaps all this could have been avoided if he'd simply talked to Georgiana like Elizabeth had said. If only he'd faced whatever was blocking him from doing so and sought his sister out.

Now…

Well, he had decided before that none of it mattered. He must save Georgiana from Wickham now. Whatever Wickham had done to his sister, whatever happened now, it didn't matter. She was his family. He was devoted to her. He was the one who cared about her, not Wickham.

The only problem was that he was not sure where they were. He could not race them all the way to Scotland, if in fact, that was where they were heading.

Lady Catherine was in a tizzy about it all. She could not understand how Georgiana could have left underneath all of their noses. Darcy did not spend time speaking to her. He went directly to the stables where his horse was being made ready for him. He would ride off at once, and he would take the most logical path he could think of. He would hope they had gone that way and that he might come upon them that night.

He was climbing onto the horse when a groom stopped him.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the man, who looked nearly Darcy's age. "I only thought that maybe it would be of help. Wickham and I would sometimes drink together. These past few years, he's acted as though he's above mixing with the help, however. Anyway, Wickham used to tell me of a place he liked to frequent. It was a few hours' journey from here, but he would go there and spend the night."

"Why do you bring this up?"

"He made a comment to me once, and I only just remembered it. He said that he would like to see your face if he brought your sister there. Said it would likely do permanent damage to your expression, you'd be so horrified." He grimaced. "I'm sorry, sir, to repeat that, it's only what he said."

Darcy sucked in a breath. "What is the place?"

"It's a whorehouse, sir."

Darcy shut his eyes, trying to keep from losing all his composure. "You know where it is?"

"Yes, sir. I'll tell you exactly how to get there."


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

When Elizabeth arrived at home, everyone was happy to see her. Even her mother was pleased, and Elizabeth was surprised by this. She had assumed that her mother would be in an uproar, assuming that the worst had happened and cursing Elizabeth's name—blaming Elizabeth for whatever had occurred and then pronouncing doom on the entire family.

But Elizabeth soon learned that whatever letter Lady Catherine had sent had promised certain things to Elizabeth's mother. Namely, marriages. Lady Catherine had hinted broadly that she could secure all of the Bennet daughters respectable husbands. She hadn't come right out and said this. Elizabeth read the letter herself. But the meaning was clear. And the catch was clear as well. Elizabeth must relinquish any claim she thought she might have on Mr. Darcy. As long as Mr. Darcy was free, Lady Catherine would see to it that they were all taken care of.

Elizabeth's mother didn't see that this could be a problem for Elizabeth. "After all, Mr. Darcy is dreadful, is he not? You despise him, as does everyone else. He is the most rude and unpleasant man that ever stepped foot in Hertfordshire."

Elizabeth did not respond to her mother. She did not want some marriage of Lady Catherine's concoction. In fact, she was rather certain that the marriage would be to Mr. Collins, for Lady Catherine had influence over him, and she could certainly prevail upon him to marry Elizabeth. But the marriage would be even worse than it might have been else, for Mr. Collins would have to be induced to take her and would always think of her as damaged goods. No, Elizabeth had no desire to enter into that sort of an arrangement. She would not.

Mr. Darcy had promised her that he would be coming to Hertfordshire soon enough. Of course, he had spoken no further of marriage after the disagreement they'd had in her chambers that night. But truly, she and Mr. Darcy had quarreled much more spiritedly when they had been out on the road together. He could not mean to sever the understanding between them on account of what she had said to him about Georgiana. She refused to believe that.

Still, she did not assure her mother that she would be married to Mr. Darcy and there was nothing to worry about. She did not say that the connections that she would have as the mistress of Pemberley would be a better boon to her younger sisters than Lady Catherine's arrangements. She simply was not sure of Mr. Darcy, and she did not quite know why.

Instead of dwelling on it, however, she turned her attention to Jane and her situation with Bingley.

When Elizabeth had been captured by Wickham, she could have been sure that Bingley was about to propose to Jane at any instant. But Bingley had been preoccupied when Darcy had disappeared. In fact, at first, no one had connected her disappearance and Mr. Darcy's.

Everyone knew that Mr. Darcy had left the ball in the company of Mr. Wickham, and it was well known that there was bad blood between the two of them. So, when Darcy was not to be found, everyone assumed that he and Mr. Wickham had gone off together to have some sort of settling of accounts between them. Those in town, who had heard Wickham's side of the story, thought that Wickham had convinced Darcy to do right by him.

But Bingley, who knew the other side of that story from Darcy, said that Darcy would never have done such a thing. He was concerned. He did not think that Darcy would have left without speaking to him. Bingley was in touch with all of Darcy's associates, and he was the first to learn about the special license for Wickham and Georgiana, about Darcy sending for funds and other things that seemed out of character for him. It was Bingley who first suggested that something might have happened to Darcy, and that Darcy and Elizabeth could have been victim to the same crime. No one else wanted to believe anything untoward about Wickham.

"No one had any idea what might have happened to you, Lizzy," said Jane. "And most people were paying more attention to Mr. Darcy and Wickham, as that was a more exciting story. People barely gave your absence any mind. But, of course, I was beside myself, and our father nearly lost his mind. We didn't have word of you for so many days. We all feared something awful had happened. But none of us thought you had been abducted. We thought that perhaps you had decided to walk home on your own and that you'd been mauled by some wild animal or gotten lost or fallen down and been badly hurt. We had search parties combing the distance between our home and Netherfield."

"I'm so sorry to have caused you pain," said Elizabeth.

"But you have not told me what happened," said Jane. "You must tell me everything."

Elizabeth thought of the letter she had written to Jane back at Pemberley. She had brought it with her, tucked into her trunk somewhere. But she didn't go to get it. Instead, she explained all the broad strokes to her sister. That Wickham desperately wanted to marry Georgiana, and that he had abducted Darcy to force him to allow it. She talked of the pistol and the starving. She talked of the escape and the stealing of horses. She even explained how they had fought off thieves. She said nothing of the embraces or the kisses or the night in Pemberley where Darcy had come to try to trespass on her virtue.

"But Mr. Darcy, he is not prepared to marry you?" said Jane. "If you spent nights together alone, he has compromised you, and the honorable thing would be to take you as his wife. I suppose he is using this arrangement made with his aunt as a way out of it?"

"No, he has asked me to marry him," said Elizabeth, sighing.

"Then you must tell Mama," said Jane. "Unless… you don't want to marry him, do you? Is he truly that awful of a man? I feel as though you might be able to endure his bad temper for his fortune. I do not mean to sound superficial, but there are practicalities to consider."

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, Jane, you would not do so in my stead, would you?"

"I would," said Jane.

"No, you would not. You are a romantic. But anyway, it is not quite like that," said Elizabeth. "He is not an awful man. In fact, I like him very much. I even think I may love him."

"Truly?"

Elizabeth looked away.

"Then you must tell Mama of the engagement. She will be much more pleased in that match than whatever dreadfulness Lady Catherine has in store for us all. Why does Lady Catherine want to meddle?"

"She wants Darcy to marry her daughter," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, dear," said Jane. "Do you think he will be ruled by his aunt? Will he break your engagement?"

"It's hardly a formal engagement. He has not spoken to our father or made any binding promises."

"You do think he will break it."

"I…" Elizabeth twisted her hands together. "I am not sure of him, Jane. I think some of it is because he is a very staid and formal man in many regards. He seems frightened of his emotions and his desires, and when he allows them out of himself, they consume him. Then, he has little control of himself at all. He is like two men. One who is so proper and dull that I can only laugh at him. And one who is like a storm, and I am afraid he will destroy me."

"Destroy you? How do you mean?"

But Elizabeth couldn't answer. "And beyond any of that, I am not certain I could ever fit into his world. If you could but see Pemberley, it is so incredibly grand, Jane. I… will never be able to be a proper mistress of all that. And he will always find me wanting. I will never please him. Also, I don't think he cares for me. I think, perhaps, he dislikes me. Except… he acts as though he does care and he says all manner of complimentary things to me. And yet… I don't believe I am worthy of him."

"Worthy of him?" Jane raised her eyebrows. "Elizabeth, this is the man who said you were only tolerable. He is rude and arrogant, and if anyone is not worthy of anyone, it is he of you."

"No, he is different than he seems. Underneath it all, he is so kind and good, and he cares very deeply about his sister, and he would never hurt anyone on purpose. He…" She shook her head. "No, I will not speak of him anymore. Talk to me of Bingley."

"There is nothing to say of Bingley," said Jane. "You say Mr. Darcy is different? In what ways?"

"He is honorable. He is careful to generously repay his debts. He risks all for his sister's safety. And, to me, he has been…" Elizabeth did not know how to answer. When she thought of Mr. Darcy, she felt as if she'd been singed by some inferno. Her emotions for him were larger than the both of them.

"Has he been good to you?"

Elizabeth shut her eyes.

"Lizzy, there is something you are not telling me," said Jane. "Something awful happened, didn't it? What terrible thing did Mr. Darcy do?"

"Jane, he didn't do anything—"

"Your virtue," Jane whispered. "Did he—"

" _No_." Elizabeth was fierce, but she was also whispering, even though there was no one else in the room to hear them.

They were both quiet.

"But… well, I think that is all he wants from me," Elizabeth murmured. "It's like a dreadful Richardson novel. He has lost his mind from wanting me, like Lovelace, and I fear that it is only lust that draws him to me and that he does not truly care about me."

"Mr. Darcy could certainly be nothing like Lovelace," said Jane. "No one is that horrid. You said that he was good and honorable."

"Yes. Oh, I don't know." Elizabeth twisted her hands together.

"Lizzy," said Jane carefully, "I think you may be looking for some sort of excuse here that has nothing to do with Mr. Darcy."

"Of course it is about Mr. Darcy! It is as our aunt and our mother have told us all over and over again. That we must guard ourselves from men who are only angling to steal the virtue of young ladies—"

"Elizabeth, he has offered to marry you. It is not the same." Jane pressed her lips together. "Truly, I would not want to marry a man who did not seem to exhibit some sort of… of interest in me in that way, and for myself to feel interest in return. That is why a match with Collins would have been so awful."

"So, what do you mean? Has Bingley made inappropriate advances to you?" Elizabeth demanded.

Jane flushed bright red. "Of course not."

They were both quiet.

Jane started to speak again. "That is… there is a promise in the way that he touches me when we dance or the way that his gaze travels over me when we are close, and… it is not a bad thing, Lizzy."

"It is sin," said Elizabeth.

"Not if you are married," said Jane. "Why without it, there would be no more children and the entire human race would simply die off. It is rather a necessary component of existence, do you not think? Surely, it is designed by God."

Elizabeth did not know how to reply to this.

"If Mr. Darcy feels such things towards you, I think it bodes well for your life together, not ill. I think that you are taking it thus, because you are looking for some reason to find fault with Mr. Darcy," said Jane.

"Why would I do that?"

"I do not know," said Jane.

"I wouldn't," said Elizabeth, feeling sulky.

"Anyway, I suppose you are right about Mr. Bingley making such promises to me with his touch and his gaze." Jane swallowed hard. "He should not have done so. Not if he had no intention of even speaking to me again."

"What?" Elizabeth straightened, thoughts of Darcy forgotten in her concern for her sister. "He has not spoken to you?"

"Once he knew that Darcy was back in Pemberley and that he was safe, he left for London. He had postponed the trip he was meant to take after the ball. He came back last week, but I have heard nothing. I think he has forgotten about me."

"No one could forget about my Jane," said Elizabeth. "No one. You are too sweet and beautiful to be forgotten."

"You say so," said Jane. "But I think you are too kind to me on account of our sisterhood."

"No," said Elizabeth. "No, indeed. For I have three other sisters and none of them are nearly as sweet or as beautiful as you. And though I love them all dearly, none of them are my Jane."

"Well," said Jane. "There is no one like my Lizzy, either. And I am ever so pleased to have you back."

#

Darcy rode through the night without stopping. If he grew tired, he did not acknowledge it. His anxiety was too great to allow him anything other than constant movement. He was not sure of the time when he finally reached the place that the groom had told him of. It was situated in the woods. There was one larger house of two stories and several surrounding cottages.

Darcy did not know where to begin. Wickham could be in any of these smaller cottages, and Georgiana was there with him.

By this late in the night, if they were there, Wickham would have already taken advantage of his sister. Darcy knew it, but he chose not to think of it. The important thing now was to get Georgiana out of this man's clutches. He would deal with what came after later.

He dismounted from his horse and started toward the main house.

"Fitz?" called a thin voice.

He turned, and there was Georgiana, rushing out of the woods. Her hair was disheveled. Her nose was bleeding. Her dress was torn under her cloak. She ran headlong for him, and he caught her in his arms, crushing her against him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed.

He held onto her, and, seeing her like this, it broke him.

"I'm so glad you're here," Georgiana was whispering. "I have been hiding in the woods for hours. I didn't know what to do. I was going to try to steal one of the horses, but I was afraid that Georgie—" She broke off. "That _Mr. Wickham_ would see me." There was bitterness when she said his name.

Darcy pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. "Oh, Georgiana, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

"He _hit_ me, Fitz," said Georgiana, her eyes wide, as if she still couldn't believe it.

Darcy used the edge of his jacket to wipe at the blood on Georgiana's face. "He is a very bad man, and you never have to see him ever again."

"He said that we were married and that he wanted to… to be with me, but he brought me here and there were other men. He was taking money from them, Fitz. He was going to let them…" She shuddered.

Bile rose in Darcy's throat. The evilness of Wickham was too much for him to fathom.

"I said no, and that's when he hit me," said Georgiana. She drew herself up. "So, I hit him back."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up. "Y-you did?"

"He was very drunk," said Georgiana, curling her upper lip in disgust. "He was having trouble standing upright. He tried to come after me, but I tripped him, and then I tried to run."

"You obviously got away," said Darcy.

"He was coming for me. I thought he would hit me again. I got the fire iron." She sniffed. "I hit him with that. I hit him and hit him until he didn't get up. And the other men that were there, they were drunk too, and I suppose they decided I was too spirited for their blood. They left, and I ran into the woods. I've been trying to get to the horse, but I'm afraid. He's got to have gotten up by now. But he did have a lot to drink. That makes people sleep sometimes, doesn't it?"

A dark thought occurred to Darcy. He swallowed hard. "Georgiana? Show me where you left Wickham."

"Must we? Can't we simply ride off and leave him here? I don't want to see him again."

"Yes," said Darcy. "We will leave him. But first I need to see him."

"Well, all right," said Georgiana. "If you really need to."

He nodded. "You don't have to go in. You can stay outside. I will look in on him. Where were you?"

She pointed to one of the cottages.

"That one?" he said, trying to make sure.

"Yes," she said.

"Stay here with the horse, then," he said, handing her the reins. "I'll be back in a moment."

Georgiana clutched the reins and waited.

Darcy crossed to the cottage. When he went inside, the fire was out, so it was cold. The lamps were still burning, however, but the light was low and flickering. There was nothing in the cottage except a bed and a table and the fireplace. The wood floor was dirty and Darcy could hear rats scuttling in the walls.

Wickham was lying in front of the open cavern of the fireplace. He was face down.

Darcy went to him and knelt down. He touched the other man's shoulder.

Wickham was cold.

Darcy sucked in a shuddering breath, looking away. But then he had to see. He turned Wickham over, and then he could see the wounds. The fire iron had done its work. Wickham's head was bloody. His hair was matted with it.

Wickham was dead.

Darcy got up. He couldn't feel sorry for it, exactly, not after everything this man had done. This was the end Wickham deserved. But Darcy wanted to spare his sister from the truth. He hurried out of the cottage to find her.

"He has not awoken yet," he said to Georgiana. "Don't worry."

"I'm glad you came for me, Fitz," said Georgiana. "I thought you might give up this time."

"Never," said Darcy. "I will never give up on you."

He put her on the horse and the two rode away to find the nearest inn. There, the innkeeper was still abed, and Darcy had to rouse him to get a room. The innkeeper wasn't happy, but Darcy gave him double the coin he would have normally, and that silenced the man.

Once he had his sister bundled into bed, and she was sleeping soundly, Darcy went back to the cottage.

The first thing he did was stoke up the fire. He put all the wood on until it was a raging inferno, spitting sparks out onto the dirty floor and the filthy rug. When he ran out of wood, he turned over the table and kicked it to pieces. Then he fed the table to the fire piece by piece.

In the light of the red flames, he gazed down on Wickham's bloody face.

"You could have had a comfortable life," he whispered to Wickham. "You had more than you ought to have had by the dictate of your birth. You were given so many opportunities that most men like you never received. And it wasn't enough, was it? It was never enough."

Darcy wished the man was still alive. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to throttle Wickham until the man begged for mercy. He wanted to unleash everything that was inside him and funnel it into violence.

Instead, he just looked down on the corpse.

"I never wanted to be anything like you," he breathed. "I knew that my father adored you for some reason, but I hated you, and I hated everything about you. Especially your want. Your naked desire for everything. You wanted and you never bothered to even hide it. I always tamped that down. I always worried that if I let it out it would consume me the way it consumed you. Look where it led you, Wickham."

Wickham didn't answer, of course.

"But then there was her," Darcy murmured. He looked up into the flames, and he thought of Elizabeth, of the desire he felt for her.

No, he wouldn't think of her. Not here, not in this awful cottage where this travesty had occurred. It was best to leave this behind.

First, he found the open bottle of liquor and went around the house, pouring a trail of the brandy behind him. Then, he pulled a blanket off the bed and he thrust the tip of it into the fire.

When it had caught flame, Darcy threw it across the room. The wall caught fire.

Darcy left the cottage. He waited, watching, until the place was crackling and bright and burning. He didn't dare stay longer in case the other men frequenting the whorehouse or the whores themselves might see him. Instead, he galloped back to the inn where his sister waited for him.


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

"I don't see how you can say it's your fault, Fitz." Georgiana's face was swollen and there were dark purple bruises around both of her eyes. Whatever Wickham had done to her, it looked exceedingly painful. Every time Darcy looked at her, he flinched. To think that he hadn't protected his sister from that brute.

"It is categorically my fault," said Darcy. They were in a carriage, going back to Pemberley. He'd had to part with more of his coin to take it, but he thought it was important for his sister to travel in comfort. She'd been through an awful ordeal, and he could have spared her the pain of it. But he hadn't, so he would do what he could now to make it right. "I am your guardian, and I did not guard you."

"Well, I was willful," said Georgiana. "I wanted to disobey."

"You were trying to get me to take notice of you," said Darcy.

She considered this, leaning up against the seat of the carriage. "Perhaps."

"You wanted someone to pay you mind, and I didn't. But Wickham did," said Darcy.

Her face fell. "I thought he loved me."

"Yes, well… I don't know if he was capable of love. I don't know what it was all about, in the end. He must have known that I would never allow a marriage between the two of you."

"He said that after things were, um, consumed?"

"Consummated," Darcy muttered.

"Yes," said Georgiana, nodding. "That word. That after that, you would have to allow the marriage, because I would belong to him and no other man would ever want me besides him."

"If you were not my beloved sister, perhaps," said Darcy. "And if he were not a wretched worm of a man, perhaps. But under the circumstances, there was no way that I would ever have left you with him. I would always have come for you. Even if I was being an utter idiot about showing you how I felt, I have always and will always love you. You are my sister."

Her lower lip trembled. "I don't know why that makes me want to cry. It seems like a nice thing to say."

"It's all right to cry," said Darcy.

"I feel like all I've been doing for weeks is crying," she said.

"Anyway, that isn't what he did," said Darcy. "There was no consummation. He wanted to subject you to other men. And that would go against everything he planned. It didn't further his scheme to marry you at all. He could only have done it because he wanted to cause you pain and me pain by extension. He was truly diabolical."

"Was?" said Georgiana. "You are speaking of him as if…"

"Is," said Darcy, clearing his throat. "He _is_ diabolical."

Georgiana eyed him warily. "What did you see in the cottage, Fitz? Was Wickham really asleep?"

"Yes, of course," said Darcy. "Let's not dwell on that anymore, Georgiana. I am only glad that you were so strong and able to protect yourself. You did exactly what you had to do. It was the right thing."

Georgiana nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. I had to get away from him."

They were quiet.

Then she spoke up. "So, the consummation business? If that didn't happen, does that mean I wasn't married?"

"I don't think so, no," said Darcy.

"And what does consummation mean exactly?" she said. "How do I know if it happened or not?"

Darcy grimaced. He tried to search for words and found none.

"He kissed me," said Georgiana. "He kissed me more than once. That's not it?"

"No," said Darcy. "Was there nothing more than kissing?"

"Well…" Georgiana flushed behind her bruises. She looked out the window. "He touched me through my clothes in shocking ways."

"And nothing more?"

She turned back to him, shaking her head.

"Then no," he said. "Thank heaven."

"But am I ruined?" said Georgiana. "I braved all this because I thought that I was to be married at the end of it, but now it seems that is not to be so. What will become of me?"

"I will do everything in my power to protect you," said Darcy. "It is mostly a matter of talk, I believe. I shall say nothing, and we can be assured of Lady Catherine. She would not say anything to harm the family name. The servants are the only worry, and I will do my best to make it so that they do not speak to anyone."

"Thank you, Fitz. I don't think I deserve this, how good you're being to me. I think I may have been frightful, especially these past few days."

"The blame for all this lies squarely at the feet of Mr. Wickham," said Darcy.

"No, that cannot be entirely true. Because I did willfully disobey you."

"But I share the blame," said Darcy. "I shut you out and kept you away from me. I… I was afraid of allowing myself to feel. You know the way the father always was, Georgiana? So proper and formal?"

"Yes, you are exactly like him."

"That is what I wanted to be," said Darcy. "Because allowing myself to feel anything, anything at all, I thought it would bring me pain that was too great to bear. You reminded me of the pain of losing our mother. You reminded me of… of family, of love, and all of that… I'm sorry. I pushed you away, and that drove you right into Wickham's arms."

She looked away. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "Well, I have missed you, Fitz."

"I will not do it again," said Darcy. "I promise you that."

#

"Well, Lizzy, does your mother have it right?" came the voice of Elizabeth's father.

Elizabeth was reading in the library, alone. To be more accurate, she was trying to read, but she was having trouble concentrating on the words. Whenever she tried to immerse herself in the story, she became preoccupied with everything that was happening in her life. Or rather the lack of anything happening. For some time, there had been danger and excitement aplenty. Even after they'd gotten to Pemberley, things had been quite interesting. And now, she had been home for some time, and there had been no word from Mr. Darcy and nothing was happening at all.

She had not thought her life dull before being kidnapped by Mr. Wickham, but now things seemed dreary indeed.

Elizabeth set down the book and looked up at her father. "Excuse me? Right about what?"

Her father ambled into the room and held out his hand for the book she was reading.

She handed it over.

He turned it over in his hands. "Another novel, I see. Some would say you should be reading loftier works. Epic poetry or plays, for instance."

She snatched it back. "Oh, come now, do not try to change the subject. What does my mother have right?"

"Ah, yes." Her father nodded. "She says that you despise that Darcy fellow and that you will be just as happy to have Lady Catherine sort things out for you. Does she have it right?"

"No," said Elizabeth furrowing her brow. "She does not."

Her father chuckled. "I thought not. And yet, you have not contradicted her, even as she is happily planning all of your weddings?"

"I…" Elizabeth sighed.

Her father sat down opposite her on a chair that adjoined the couch where she was sitting. "Will this Mr. Darcy not offer for your hand as his aunt implies? I do not really know the fellow, only having a brief introduction. But my various inquiries into his character have all indicated that he is an honorable gentleman."

"He did ask for my hand," said Elizabeth.

"Ah," said her father. "Well, then that is that."

"Yes," said Elizabeth.

"Unless your mother is right and you do not like him," said her father. "No matter what happened, and what it cost us, I would not for my life doom you to a lifetime of misery, Lizzy. If you do not wish to marry him, you must tell me. We will find another way."

"No, it is not that," said Elizabeth, feeling a little bashful. She was not accustomed to discussing her feelings about men with her father. "I do like him. I think I even… love him."

"Excellent news," said her father.

"Yes." She tried to smile.

"No, no," said her father, shaking his head. "What is that you are not telling me, Lizzy?"

"Nothing," she said. "Only… well, if I am to marry him, why are there no preparations? Why has he not come to speak to you? Why do I not feel as though I am a woman engaged?"

"You are saying that he is not as honorable as we might have heard?"

"No, I do think that he is. I…" She shook her head.

"Well, then there must be some reason for the delay in your nuptials," said her father. "By and by, you will learn what it is. Until then, you must be patient."

She sighed.

"A thing that is easier advised than undertaken, to be sure," said her father. "Perhaps we shall wait for a few more days for word. If we have heard nothing, I shall write to the gentleman."

"Oh, no, I don't need you to—"

"It is my responsibility, Lizzy," said her father. "And I would not see you in any distress."


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

Mr. Darcy attempted several times to write a letter to Elizabeth explaining that he had been delayed by Wickham's treachery, and that he and Georgiana were getting themselves together before they traveled together to Hertfordshire. But he found there were too many aspects of the story that he did not want to put in writing and would rather tell her aloud face to face. So, there was little to tell her at all. And then there was the fact that he was knowledgeable that he owed her an apology. He didn't know how to put that in the letter either. He felt he needed to do that in person also.

So, days passed, and Mr. Darcy did not write any letter at all.

Instead, he wrote to Mr. Bingley to tell him that he and Georgiana would be coming to Netherfield. He didn't send word to Elizabeth, because he thought it would be better to talk to her when he arrived to call at her home.

When Georgiana realized this during the last bit of the carriage ride, she was appalled. "You have made a mess of things," she said. "To not send word to your fiancee when you are arriving? She will have heard rumors and wonder why you slighted her."

"I'm sure there won't be any rumors," said Mr. Darcy, brushing this aside.

"Of course there will be," said Georgiana. "You must send her a letter as soon as we arrive."

"You seem awfully concerned about Miss Bennet," said Darcy. "I didn't think you liked her."

"I _was_ perfectly horrid to her," said Georgiana, shivering. "I shall apologize to her, of course. I would would do it in a letter, but I feel as though that's the coward's way. I must face her and tell her that I am most terribly sorry. Also, I think she is good for you, Fitz. You seem happier when she is around."

"So, then, you do like her?"

"Yes," said Georgiana. "Very much. Ever so much more than that dreadful Miss Bingley, who we shall be dining with tonight." Georgiana made a face. "All she does is compliment me."

"Yes, that does sound dreadful," said Mr. Darcy.

"Well, I don't think she means it," said Georgiana. "I think she is only trying to be friendly with me because she wants you to think that I want you to marry her."

Darcy made a face.

"Well," said Georgiana, "I knew you would never marry her. She is altogether too insubstantial for you. You need a woman with a backbone and something to say. Like Miss Bennet. So, you must remember to write that letter."

When they arrived at Netherfield, Darcy did remember to write the letter. He quickly dashed off a few lines to Elizabeth saying that he had arrived at Netherfield and would call on her tomorrow.

Then his valet came in to help him dress for dinner.

Somehow, Darcy forgot all about the letter as his valet was dithering over him.

He went down for dinner and didn't give the letter another thought.

At dinner, Caroline Bingley was so very pleased to see him that it made Darcy a little bit ill. He had noticed, of course, that Caroline played the coquette with him on occasion. He'd done nothing to encourage her, and he had thought little of it. The truth was that most women that he made acquaintance with seemed to wish to marry him. That was one thing that made Elizabeth a notable exception. She had needed some convincing, even when the circumstances had been dire. But tonight, Caroline was quite insufferable.

"Things have been quite terrible without you here, Darcy," said Caroline. "Why, after Mr. and Mrs. Hurst left, I have had no company whatsoever."

"Yes, I don't count, you see," said Bingley, chuckling.

"You don't," said Caroline. "You've been so busy worrying about this and that, and you haven't paid me any mind."

"Surely you could visit others nearby," said Darcy.

"Others nearby?" She shook her head, looking scandalized. "There is no respectable society to be kept out here in the country. Truthfully, I hope that we shall all go back to London quite soon." She turned to Georgiana. "Isn't that what you would wish, Miss Darcy?"

"I should like to go to town if I could come out this Season," said Georgiana. She beamed at her brother. "What do you think?"

"Well, it's a possibility," said Darcy. "But it might not be a good time. We may be very busy this year."

"With what?" said Caroline. "Because there is nothing to do around here, nothing at all. And then the other day, I saw those dreadful Bennet girls, all walking together on the road. Walking! Can you imagine? It's obvious they are too poor to even have enough horses for them all to go horseback."

"I don't see anything wrong with walking," said Bingley.

"Neither do I," said Darcy. "Although I did a bit more of it that I would have liked when I was with Miss Elizabeth escaping Mr. Wickham. And I was quite glad that she was accustomed to walking then. Really, Miss Bingley, you would have been quite put out walking so much, I imagine."

"Oh, thank Heaven it wasn't me with you," said Miss Bingley. Then she seemed to reconsider this. She tried a smile. "Still, if it _had_ been me, you would have been spared Miss Elizabeth's conversation and her lack of sophistication."

"Oh, to the contrary," said Darcy, smiling. He was rather enjoying this. "I had a capital time on the run with Miss Elizabeth. I've asked her to marry me, in fact, so that we can continue on in each other's company."

"Have you truly?" said Mr. Bingley, a smile overtaking his face.

"No, you have not!" said Caroline. "Say that you are telling an awful jest, Mr. Darcy."

"Indeed not," he said.

"But…" She sputtered. "It is only because you were held captive together. You think that you must marry her out of some kind of misplaced sense of honor. But you were not the one who compromised her. Mr. Wickham did that. Let him marry her."

"Well, Mr. Wickham is dead," said Mr. Darcy. "There was a very unfortunate fire, or so I hear." And, in any case, if rumors proved to be a problem, he would simply have to acknowledge his sister as Wickham's widow. It did not seem as though it would come to that, however. From what he could tell, his aunt had succeeded in convincing everyone that there had been no marriage between Wickham and Miss Darcy, and the special license acquired had not been used. Mr. Darcy was gratified that Caroline seemed to have heard nothing about it. Perhaps that meant the rumors were not as widespread as they could be. "But," Mr. Darcy continued, "even if Wickham had been alive, I would not let anyone marry him, not even you, Miss Bingley."

Miss Bingley brought her brows together, as if confused by this.

"I should very much like it if we did not discuss Mr. Wickham," said Georgiana, who had taken the news of the fire rather well, all things considered. She did not grieve Wickham's death, and neither did she question Darcy too heavily about any of it. Perhaps deep down she knew the truth of what had happened, but Darcy would never bring it up to her. Wickham's death _had_ been an accident, no matter which version of events was given. That was all that mattered.

"Oh, yes," said Caroline. "Did he not somehow think he could marry you, Miss Darcy? What a marvelously stupid man he must have been."

"Oh, let us leave the subject of that man," said Mr. Bingley. "I wish to go back to the part in which Darcy said he was going to marry Miss Elizabeth."

"No, leave off," said Caroline. "How wretchedly horrid. Do say you will change your mind, Mr. Darcy. You will never be happy with a woman such as she."

"I have resolved to marry the eldest Miss Bennet," said Mr. Bingley, grinning widely. "You and I shall be like brothers."

Darcy chuckled. "I suppose we shall."

"This again?" said Caroline. "I thought you had left that idea behind, Charles." She turned to Mr. Darcy. "You were supposed to support me in discouraging him from such an idea."

"That was because I thought Miss Bennet indifferent to him," said Darcy. "But one thing I have learned about Bennet women is that you cannot judge them the way you might judge ordinary women. If that is what Mr. Bingley intends to do, I shall not discourage him at all. In fact, we shall go to Longbourn together on the morrow."

"Oh, capital!" said Bingley. "What a good plan that is." He began enthusiastically spearing carrots with his fork, still grinning widely.

Darcy could not help but smile himself.

Caroline threw down her napkin. "I'm afraid I shall need to be excused," she said. Her face had turned rather red.

#

"I have a letter come express from Lady Catherine," crowed Elizabeth's mother. "She says that we must not heed anything that Mr. Darcy says, that he has quite lost his mind." Mrs. Bennet furrowed her brow, looking confused, and continued to read the letter silently, although her lips moved when she read quietly, something that always made Elizabeth feel a bit of irrational rage.

"What does it say, Mama?" Lydia dashed across the room to snatch the letter from her mother.

Mrs. Bennet evaded her youngest daughter, holding the letter high above her head. She maneuvered so that the couch was between her and Lydia. "Lydie, leave off! I shall read it to you in one moment."

Lydia sulked, arms crossed over her chest. "You must allow me to read it aloud. I do not trust you not to leave out important bits."

Mrs. Bennet ignored Lydia. Instead, she turned to Elizabeth, her tone sharp. "Has Mr. Darcy proposed to you?"

"Well… sort of," said Elizabeth. "I mean, yes. He did. But then, well, we quarreled, and then he sent me home, and—"

"Have you had some sort of secret letter from him?" said her mother. "I must say, if you have been keeping this from me, I shall never forgive you, Lizzy. You know how I suffer worrying over the future of my girls, and I must know every bit of information in order to make the best decision for the family. Now, have you had a letter from him?"

"No," said Elizabeth, her face falling.

"What is the meaning of that?" muttered her mother.

"Mama, give me the letter!" said Lydia.

Mrs. Bennet folded up the letter and tucked it under her arm. She leaned against the back of the couch and gazed across the room blankly, as if deep in thought. "If Mr. Darcy means to marry you, Lizzy, that is a far more advantageous marriage than a marriage to Mr. Collins, as Lady Catherine suggests. And the other men she proposes for the rest of you are not nearly of the caliber of Mr. Darcy. Why, I do not think Lady Catherine realizes that Mr. Bennet is a gentleman, a proper, respectable gentleman. And besides, I don't think she knows that Jane has caught the eye of Mr. Bingley. She may have no idea just how pretty Jane is. If she knew such things, she would never suggest—"

"Mama, the letter!" Lydia stamped her foot.

"Hush, Lydia," said Mrs. Bennet. She rounded on Elizabeth. "Listen, if Mr. Darcy will marry you, you must have him. I do not care if you find him disagreeable. For ten thousand pounds a year, you will learn to accept his foibles. Are we quite clear?"

"Mama," said Elizabeth. "I have not heard from Mr. Darcy since I left Pemberley."

"You think he would withdraw his proposal?" Her mother sniffed. "Well, if he does such a thing, we will not take that lying down. He shall be forced to honor his word."

"Mama, it was hardly an official engagement," said Elizabeth. "I don't know what recourse—"

"Who is that coming up the drive?" exclaimed Kitty.

Lydia, leaving off all the thoughts of the letter, scurried over to the window to look as well. Even Mary, who pretended to be above such things, stood up from her embroidery, curious.

"It looks like Mr. Bingley's carriage," whispered Jane, who was still sitting down, but had a good view of the window from her seat.

"Well!" said Mrs. Bennet, rubbing her hands together. "It's about time he arrived. Yes, it is definitely about time." She hurried around the couch to join her youngest daughters at the window. "Oh, look! It _is_ Mr. Bingley. And Mr. Darcy besides."

"Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth, and her heart started to pound, suddenly. He was here.


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

Mr. Darcy came directly to her, as if he could not even see anyone else in the room, and he grasped both of her hands and looked deep into her eyes.

Her heart was still fluttering away in her chest. She was happy, but she also felt vaguely as though she might faint. "You came," she whispered.

"But of course I did," said Mr. Darcy. "I wrote you that letter—oh, dash it all, I forgot to _send_ the letter." He hung his head. "I _am_ sorry. My sister said I was quite remiss in not writing, and I must admit that I did feel dreadful about it, but when I tell you all the things that have occurred—"

"Knowing that there was a letter does a good deal to set my mind at ease," she said, smiling. After all, it was quite improper for a gentlemen to write a letter to a woman he was not engaged to. So, that alone meant that she'd had nothing to fear all along.

He drew back. "Miss Bennet? Do you still doubt me?"

She flushed.

"It is because of the way we spoke before parting," he said. "Because I was cross with you about what you said about Miss Darcy."

"No, you did apologize," said Elizabeth, remembering his cursory apology at breakfast the following morning. "I should not have thought it was significant."

"But everything you said was right," said Mr. Darcy. "I was neglecting her. I should have spoken to her. It all got so much worse because I didn't. I should have listened to you."

"I should not have been so forceful when I spoke to you. I should have—"

"You were exactly as you should have been." He smiled at her. "I will tell you everything by and by, and there is much that I would like to speak to you about. But first, I have come to talk to your father. And Bingley is here to see your sister. We thought we would come together."

She smiled too.

They smiled at each other, looking rather silly and besotted, for several moments longer than was likely decorous.

And then Mr. Darcy coughed and dropped her hands and fussed with his cravat. Then he sought her father at once.

When he came back to the sitting room with her father, all smiles, Elizabeth knew that all was well.

Bingley and Jane had been sitting on the couch together, talking quietly, their foreheads practically touching. When Darcy came back, Bingley stood and Jane with him, and there were tears in Jane's eyes.

It was all settled, then.

#

When Lady Catherine heard the news of Darcy's engagement, she was not pleased. She fired off several angry letters to Mrs. Bennet and one to Elizabeth herself in which she called her a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to any important family. But there was nothing that Lady Catherine could do, so she would have to accept it eventually, even though she had sworn she never would.

Elizabeth and Georgiana were reconciled the next day when Georgiana called at Longbourn. The younger woman begged the forgiveness of Elizabeth and said that she would be honored to call her sister. Elizabeth was all understanding. After everything that Georgiana had been through, she would have been in a bad temper with anyone. She held no grudges and the two walked together and talked, and Elizabeth was certain that they would be good friends in the future.

Everything was a flurry of activity preparing for the wedding. Elizabeth had thought, now that she and Mr. Darcy were officially engaged, that they would have some time to themselves, but it seemed that they never did.

They endeavored to go on walks alone together, but someone always asked if she might come along, usually one of Elizabeth's younger sisters. Lydia or Kitty would spend the entire time asking questions of Mr. Darcy about his home or his fortune that bordered on rude, and Elizabeth would be horrified, spending all her time shushing them. But Mary was the worst. She rarely said anything but she seemed to think it was her duty to stay close to them as a chaperone, because they were not married yet. When Mary did speak, it was to quote scripture at them. She was fond of reciting Paul's ruminations on the thorn in his flesh from Corinthians. It was also cold outside, too cold for long walks.

Mr. Bingley invited Jane and Elizabeth to dine at Netherfield on occasion, but when they were there, they were attended constantly by Miss Caroline Bingley, who turned everything she said into a hidden barb at Elizabeth.

There was no chance to talk then either.

So, weeks passed, and Elizabeth felt as though they never really got a chance to speak. On the few occasions that she and Darcy were alone, she used the time to inquire extensively about the fate of Wickham and what had occurred with Georgiana, which Darcy had hinted to her.

To truly tell the entire shocking story took several stolen sessions, and she was glad to know that Wickham was dead. But what she truly wanted was to speak to Darcy about were her feelings toward him. She'd had a revelation sometime after Jane had admonished her that her concerns about Darcy stemmed from within herself, not from Darcy himself.

She wasn't sure when it all became clear to her. Maybe it was that moment when he'd come into her house to speak to her father. The way that he'd looked into her eyes had made her understand that he loved her.

And then it was only a matter of discovering what exactly it was within her that had made her want to hold back.

Now, she understood it all, and she wanted to tell Mr. Darcy about it. But she never had the chance.

Before she knew it, it was her wedding day. She and Jane had a double wedding, and Jane was the most beautiful bride that had surely ever lived, at least Elizabeth thought so. Bingley and Jane had found time to talk with each other, probably because they were not plagued by the attentions of the younger Miss Bennets or Miss Bingley in the same way that Elizabeth and Darcy were. Jane had relayed to Elizabeth that Bingley had apologized to her for his neglect of her. He said that he had no excuse for not asking for her hand outright as soon as he had known he wanted her.

Jane said that she forgave him. He had been quite worried about Mr. Darcy, after all. It was to be expected.

But Bingley said that Darcy's absence had made him realize that he had been a spineless wretch. That he had relied far too much on others' opinions. He had worried about Darcy not approving of the match, and then he decided he didn't care if Darcy did approve. He was going to marry her anyway. And, as it turned out, Darcy had no objections.

But going forward, Bingley said that he would not be spineless, because Jane made him brave, and he loved her for that.

Elizabeth thought it was all rather romantic.

As taken as she was with watching her sister's bliss unfold, Elizabeth was caught off guard at her own happiness. When the parson pronounced her Mrs. Darcy, she felt as though she could not breathe for gladness. She had never been so happy.

During the ceremony, it began to snow, and the snow was very heavy.

Elizabeth and Darcy were obliged to stay at Netherfield for their first night together, which was all well and good, except it meant that they did not travel anywhere together. So, they were never alone, not until their wedding night.


	27. Chapter 27

**Well, this is it. The end of the book. Finally the story earns its M for mature rating...**

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

Elizabeth was a jangle of nerves, waiting in the bedroom, perched on top of the covers in her shift. She almost wished she had taken Mr. Darcy up on that mad offer he'd made—for the two of them to have been together back at Pemberley. At least that might have meant it was all done, and she would know what she was in for.

When Darcy appeared, he seemed as nervous as she. He was carrying a lamp that he'd used to light his way down the hallway, and he set it down on a table next to the bed and peered down at her.

"Good evening," said Elizabeth, feeling awkward and nervous and idiotic.

"Good evening," said Mr. Darcy. And he _bowed_ to her.

She would have laughed, but her stomach was too much in knots to do that.

And then neither of them said anything at all. They simply stared at each other, her sitting on the bed, him standing up. Seconds ticked by.

Elizabeth knew that things had once been different between them. That they had clung to each other in the cold, that they had shared fiery kisses stolen in the most inappropriate of times and places. But now, everything seemed horribly strange.

"Dash it all," muttered Darcy. He rubbed his face. "Listen, I've been wanting to speak to you."

"Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you too," she said. "It seems as though it was so easy for us to talk before, and now it all seems difficult."

"Yes," said Darcy. "It was easier when we were on the run and huddling together for warmth."

"Isn't that dreadful? Whatever shall we do about it?"

"Well, perhaps we should attempt to recreate the situation," said Darcy. He got up off the bed and gestured for her to do so as well. "Let's get beneath the blankets and get close."

Elizabeth laughed. "You think that will help us talk?"

Darcy nodded sagely. "Most certainly."

"I'm not sure that will lead to talking, Mr. Darcy."

"What else could it possibly lead to, Mrs. Darcy?" He arched an eyebrow.

She shivered, hearing her new name. Her body suddenly did feel cold, but in a pleasant, tingly way. She yanked back the blankets and crawled into the bed.

He crawled in next to her.

There were a few moments of confusion, both scooting and moving about, but soon, she was in his arms, and it was perfect. She shut her eyes. "Yes, this is much better."

"I agree," he said.

"I wanted…" She craned her head back to look at him. "I realized something."

"Oh?"

"When I denied you that night at Pemberley—"

"That was incredibly inappropriate of me," he said. "But I find that you bring that out within me, Mrs. Darcy. That is why I fell for you so hard."

She smiled, and she believed him. He had fallen for her, and she knew that now. "That night, I didn't believe that you _had_ fallen for me."

"No, I seem to remember that," he said. "You accused me of not loving you, and you would not believe me when I said that I did."

"To be fair, you did not say it outright. You said, 'What if I do love you?' Which is not quite the same thing."

"Well, I do love you," he said. "To distraction."

"And _I_ love _you_ , Mr. Darcy," she said, smiling. "I believe you now, but I did not before."

"What have I done that has convinced you?"

"It was not you that was the impediment to my acceptance. It was rather something I believed about myself. Truly, I think that overhearing you at the Meryton assembly stung me more deeply than I truly realized."

"Oh, dear, this again. I am so dreadfully sorry. I thought that I had explained—"

"Wait," she said. "I think it hurt because it touched something inside me that I already feared. My sister Jane is the most beautiful girl that I know, and I have been compared to her my whole life. I know I am not as pretty as she is, but I always told myself that I didn't mind it."

"You are beautiful," said Mr. Darcy, his voice husky. "And I can't have you say otherwise."

"The point is," she said, "I did not think myself worthy of you. But it was not you particularly, it was anyone. I thought myself poorly made and second best, because it seemed to me that I had always been so. To think that a man wanted _me_ above all others? I could not believe it. So, I couldn't allow myself to be sure of you, because I could not accept that I could have something good and true and lovely. I told myself that you didn't want me, and I looked for any excuse to believe it. But it was me who wouldn't allow myself to be desired."

He propped himself up on one elbow to peer down at her. "I am sorry that you felt that way. If you had told me, I would have assured you that you are not second best. Never second best. Not to me."

She smiled at him.

"I adore you," he rasped. "You have bewitched me right from the beginning."

"Have I truly?"

"Listen… I have something I should like to tell you as well. It is a bit of a lengthy thing to explain, but I feel I need to say it. Could I tell you all I wish to say?"

"Please," she said, smiling.

He sat up. "First, however, I must admit I am quite abominably cold."

She was surprised. The room was a comfortable temperature, she thought. "You are?"

"Yes, and I have heard that if two people wish to share warmth, it is best done if neither of them are wearing clothes."

She let out a giggle. "Mr. Darcy! That is shocking."

"Quite," he said. "But you wouldn't want me to freeze, would you?"

She was still giggling. "No, I suppose not."

"Good, then take off everything," he said, sitting up and busying himself with removing his nightshirt.

But she didn't take off her shift. Instead, she could not stop herself from watching him. Some parts of his skin she had seen already. His strong forearms and a bit of his chest. But now, it was all bared to her, and she was rather stunned by how pleasing she found his body. He was so strong and lithe and handsome. She stared at him, her breath quickening.

"I should ask you something else a bit shocking," he said, tossing aside his nightshirt.

"Oh?" she breathed.

"Call me Fitz," he said. "When we are alone, when neither of us are wearing our clothing, that is all I ever want you to call me."

"Fitz," she whispered absently. "And you must call me Lizzy." She had just caught sight of whatever it was that resided between his legs. She had never seen one on a grown man up close, not in real life, only in statues and art and the like. Mr. Darcy's seemed rather bigger than the ones on the classical statues. And it was, well, sticking out.

 _That was what I felt,_ she thought. The night in the stables, when they had been kissing and close, she had felt something pressing into her, and she had wondered about it. It was that.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat.

She raised her gaze to his. "Oh, Mr. Darcy, I…" She felt herself flush deeply.

"Fitz," he said.

She giggled again. "You are not wearing anything at all."

"And you, Lizzy, are still frustratingly clothed," he said.

"Yes, well, I am a bit distracted," she said.

"I see," he said. "I must say, I had hoped I would at least be somewhat pleasing to you, but if you—"

"Oh," she said. "You are. You…" She looked him over again. That shivery, tingling feeling spread over her. It seemed concentrated between her thighs. "You are most pleasing without your clothes."

"What I am principally, Lizzy, is cold," he said. "And if we are to remedy that situation, you are going to have to remove your clothes as well. Shall I assist you, or—"

"No, I can remove my own shift," she said, lifting her chin.

He chuckled.

With a flourish, she tugged the thing over her head, and then felt a bit frightened at how quickly she had uncovered herself. She could feel the air of the room on her breasts, and she shivered again. The shiver felt delicious.

Darcy's expression had changed. There was none of the teasing that had been there before. He was… awed.

She felt shy but pleased. Her first inclination was to throw a hand over her breasts, to hide, but she fought that. She liked the greedy way he was drinking her in. Instead, she arched her back a bit, putting herself on display for him.

He sucked in breath sharply.

"Better, then?" she said.

"Much," he murmured, and he could not take his eyes from her.

"Fitz, you said you were cold, so I should think we should be bundling under the blankets."

"Indeed," he said. "With all haste." He reached out and ran his forefinger over her clavicle and down over her soft skin to the tip of her breast.

She let out a breathy cry.

He kissed her.

And now, their bodies were pressed together, and he was all softness and hardness at the same time. His skin slid against hers like silk, and they were falling back into the pillows together, and his mouth and his tongue and his _fingers_. Oh! The way he was touching her.

Abruptly, he stopped.

"Mr. Darcy?" she said.

"Fitz," he said sternly. He reached down and pulled the blankets up over the both of them. And then he pulled her into his arms again. But he did not kiss her. He did not touch the sensitive places he'd been exploring only a moment ago.

"Fitz, is something the matter?"

"I wanted to explain something to you," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I suppose you could do that right now." She felt oddly disappointed. Hadn't he said that it was a lot he wanted to explain? How long would it take, she wondered?

He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. "When I was a boy, my father was very distant when it came to me. Disapproving, I suppose you might say."

"Oh, this goes all the way back to your boyhood?"

He laughed. "If you'd rather not hear…?"

"No, of course not. You want to tell me. I want to listen. That is what a wife should do for her husband after all."

"Indeed," he said. "You, Lizzy, are going to make a very good wife." Suddenly, one of his hands snaked up over her waist. He dragged his fingers lightly against her skin, leaving more shivers in his wake.

She gasped. "Oh, Fitz."

"I got an idea from him," said Darcy, his fingers traveling over her rib cage.

"From whom?" she said, breathless.

"From my father," said Darcy. "Honestly, Lizzy, are you still distracted?"

"Mmph," she said.

His hand closed over her breast. "Whatever for?"

She cried out.

He ran his thumb over her nipple. "My father made me think that I needed to be that sort of a man, that I needed to be proper and stiff and closed down."

Tremors ran through her body, wonderful, pleasant tremors. She never wanted him to stop touching her.

He moved his hand to her other nipple. "So, that's what I was. I closed myself off to everyone, even my own sister. Even though I had seen that even my father couldn't keep it up. He was soft with exactly one person. George Wickham, for whatever reason." Darcy grimaced, removing his hand from her body.

"Oh, must we ever speak of him again?" said Elizabeth.

"I can't see why we should," said Darcy. He kissed her.

The kiss was deep and boundless and dark and lovely. She ran her fingers up and down the hard muscles of his back. She wrapped her thighs around his hips, the way she'd done when they were in the bed together in the stable.

The hard part of him pressed against the center of her.

He groaned.

She sighed.

He lifted his body, breaking the kiss. When he spoke, his voice was deep and affected. "I was afraid of desire, afraid of _feeling_. But when I saw you at the ball in Meryton, you broke something in me."

"Broke?" she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"No, it was a good break," he said. And suddenly, his fingers had found something between her legs, something wonderful.

She moaned, and it was loud, and she didn't care.

"It was exceedingly pleasant," he said. "You unleashed something in me, something wild and passionate. I fought it, but it was too strong. It overtook me. And I'm glad it did, because I think that I needed to change. Before, I was like half a man. I was proper and responsible, but I kept all my emotion bottled up. You let that part of me free, Lizzy. You made me whole."

They were kissing again. She loved kissing him.

His voice was urgent and soft. "I need you, Lizzy. I need you, and I want you, and you undo me in the most wonderful of ways."

She could only moan again. Her hips seemed to be moving of their own volition, bucking against his fingers.

"You are quite perfect, you know?" he said. But he didn't say more, because he lowered his mouth to her breasts, then, and he sucked and teased and kissed.

She tumbled into some perfect dark tunnel of delight. She felt as if she was falling apart, and each piece of her that splintered off deepened her pleasure. She shut her eyes and gasped and squirmed. And his skilled fingers worked at her and teased her until she shattered. Then he put her back together again only to shatter her once more. And then again. And again.

Tremors from all that were still shaking her legs when he pressed the length of his body against hers and kissed her lips.

"I love you," he whispered again. "You make me complete."

She felt loose and bold and happy. She reached between his legs and found that hard part of him. "Make _me_ complete," she murmured, and she put him where she wanted him.

He filled her up. They were joined.

And it was perfect.


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

… _five years later_

"But _why_ does Aunt Georgiana have to get married?" said little Gracie Darcy, stamping her foot and making her dark ringlets bounce adorably.

Not that Elizabeth would allow herself to express how adorable she thought her daughter was in her anger. That would not go over well. Indeed, it would likely cause Grace distress, and she found she wanted to avoid a tantrum just then. Gracie was nearly four, and Elizabeth was increasing again, several months along now. She would love to have another little sweet daughter like Grace, but she also thought it would be quite nice to have a boy, to have one of each. And there was the business of an heir, of course, but that was secondary to Elizabeth. All she wanted was for this next child to be healthy, in truth.

"Well, it's not as if it's a chore," said Mr. Darcy, who had knelt down to be eye-level with his daughter. "Aunt Georgiana rather wants to get married."

"But that's preposterous," said Gracie, folding her arms over her chest and wrinkling up her face.

Both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy burst into laughter. Neither could help themselves.

"Where did you learn that word, dearest?" said Elizabeth.

"I don't know," said Grace, raising her chin. "But it _is_. Preposterous. Why would she want to get married? Then she has to move away and leave home and I won't see her every day." Grace stuck out her lower lip.

"Oh," said Mr. Darcy, taking Grace's hand. "So, that is what this is about. You will miss your aunt."

Gracie nodded, and her big brown eyes filled with tears.

Darcy embraced Grace. "Well, we shall write to her every day, shall we not? And we will tell her of all the things that you have done that day, and she will write back."

"It's not the same," said Grace, her voice now full of tears.

"No, it's not," said Elizabeth. "It will be hard, but you will see Aunt Georgiana again."

"No," said Grace, pushing out of her father's arms. "Because now she'll have her own babies, and she'll never, ever pay attention to me again."

"She will pay attention to you, love," said Elizabeth.

"And besides," said Mr. Darcy, "when your cousins are bigger, you can play with them, and that will be lovely."

Grace considered this. "Well, maybe."

Mr. Darcy patted her head. "Maybe, hmm?"

Grace squared her shoulders and sniffed. "I should like a playmate, I suppose. That would be at least one silver lining to this dark cloud."

And then Elizabeth and Darcy were both laughing again.

He turned to her. "Do you teach our daughter to speak thus?"

"I, sir?" she said, touching her chest. "Why, Mr. Darcy, you know our daughter has a mind of her own."

"And an imaginative streak a mile long, Mrs. Darcy," said Mr. Darcy, moving to put his arm around her.

"I am never going to get married," said Grace. "Never, ever."

"That will be just fine with me," said Mr. Darcy. "You can stay with your old papa forever."

"But of course," said Gracie, beaming up at him.

He scooped her up into his arms. "You think you can go and say goodbye to Aunt Georgiana now?"

Previously, Gracie had run out of the room in a temper.

Grace nodded. "I suppose so. If I truly must." She sighed.

"You must," said Mr. Darcy, laughing softly. He winked at Elizabeth.

She smiled at him.

Sometimes, she thought of that first night in the carriage, when Wickham had thrown her across to sit next to him, and she'd felt the length of Mr. Darcy's body against hers for the first time. She had never expected then that they would be so happy together now, a picture of domestic bliss.

But they were. He was a doting husband and father, and she was so very, very happy.

Mr. Darcy shifted Gracie in his arms so as to have a hand free, and he held it out to his wife.

She placed her fingers in his and gazed at him. How she loved him. How she loved what they had built together.

"Shall we go and see the bride, then?" said Darcy.

"Yes," said Elizabeth.

"I suppose," sighed Gracie.

And they were off, laughing together at their precocious little girl.

* * *

 **And that's that. Thanks all for reading along and for your comments and reviews! I have gone through and read them and been pleasantly surprised that there was way, way less hate on this story than the last one. Maybe I've improved, or maybe all the people who hate me have decided not to waste their time on my stories, who knows, but hooray! I've been pleased. (Still a delicate tulip, though, all told.** ***sighs and dramatically puts hand to forehead*** **Glad I wasn't reading and responding like last time. It was a good call to wait.)**

 **If you have time to kill, you could hunt the book up on Amazon and leave me a review if you liked it. That would be freaking awesome.**

 **Thank you again for your time in reading the story and for your thoughtful replies. You guys are the best, the very best. Thanks again. Cheers!**


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